


Your Room

by WyattM



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background is Felix/Sylvain and Lindhart/Caspar, Canonical Character Death, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Love Confessions, M/M, Secret Relationship, Takes place in part 2, annoying neighbors, i am ferdinand von aegir, in the Black Eagles route, mild violence, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 19:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20587970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyattM/pseuds/WyattM
Summary: After five years since their last midnight meeting, Ferdinand has to ask himself if he's really stupid enough to let Hubert into his room again.Well, actually, he is and that goes without saying.  Given the war and their duties to the Empire and Caspar's recent tendency towards insomnia though, their secret affairs aren't such a good idea anymore.  Five years have left Ferdinand a little more than unsure about the arrangement.  Why Hubert isn't worried is the real mystery.  Heck, Ferdinand will settle for knowing why they only meet in his room. Ever.





	Your Room

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: SPOILERS FOR CRIMSON FLOWER ROUTE (takes place in the second chapter of part 2). Implied past sexual relationship with an underage person (Ferdinand is 17 in part 1, it's referenced they were together before this fic). Implied , referenced, and vaguely described sexual content but nothing of any pornographic value tbh. Unsafe sexual practices (there's no discussion of a safe word or gesture, don't do that kids). Broken nose and major battle wound, happens offscreen. Heavy petting. Near death experiences. Canon-compliant death references (for the Black Eagles Route). Discussions of mortality. Inappropriate language and themes. 24,000 words and only a vague semblance of a plot.

Ferdinand stares up at the ceiling of his dormitory room and tries to recall how long it's been since he's done this.

Back before it all- before the Black Eagle Strike Force, before the war against the Church, before Edelgard became Emperor- the encounters hadn't been all _that _frequent, not as much as it felt in retrospect. Ferdinand had training every day after lecture, the Professor assigned homework, his armor _constantly _needed polishing (a hobby that, in retrospect, goes to show his naivete back then). Those days seem lackadaisical and wanton, but in his logical mind Ferdinand knows he had _things _to do.

There'd been three or four months in there though where it _seemed _like every Goddess-damned night. Thinking on it five years later, Ferdinand can't figure out how he woke up in time for lecture the next morning. Half the time he _didn't _sleep in the first place.

The memory makes him want to lock the door, blow the candle out, and roll over into dreamland. He's not seventeen anymore. Night guard patrol shifts leave him snoozing well into afternoons these days. The Professor scheduled a drill with him in the morning and mentioned something about lunch afterwards, and Ferdinand hasn't a clue how many cups of tea this will require. The grand clock made its final midnight chime _hours _ago (_...seeming _hours ago, maybe two hours ago if Ferdinand thinks on it and two hours still cuts into his seven recommended hours of sleep).

Really, after however many long years it's been, Ferdinand should have had the wherewithal to tell Hubert to go sit on a lance when he cornered Ferdinand in the stables and hissed _'Your room… tonight' _into his ear.

The Duke Aegir (well, Duke apparent… given the war and his father's imprisonment and Edelgard's plan to abolish nobility; the title still floats in uncertainty) has never been the type to hold his tongue. He's yet to have a second thought voicing his opinions to Edelgard on everything from battle tactics to conference snacks, even if it earns him some empty threats from Hubert. He didn't have a problem debating the point with Hubert himself, years ago, the first time the slimy mage proposed the liaison. Hubert refused a trade in setting back then, citing something about Lady Edelgard sleeping on the other side of his wall, and considering their rather misguided encounter in the Knight's Hall was interrupted before it started (by Alois, of all people, who thankfully believed Hubert's quick lie about practicing his white magic on a bee sting on the other student's thigh), Ferdinand wasn't in a position to further his point.

Five years of war has done its toll on him. Five years of life or death decisions, five years of growing up faster than he'd realized, five years of carrying on House Aegir despite his father's soiled legacy. Five years of not having _time _to be offended at Hubert's first disappearance.

Ferdinand couldn't manage to do more than nod in half-confusion and agree, leading him to now- staring at the ceiling and wondering how long it's been since he's been this stupid.

The obvious answer is at least five years, though Hubert all but completely disappeared from the Monastery in those last few weeks. It _felt _like longer than a few weeks, because Ferdinand asked everyone within a five-yard radius where the bastard had disappeared to. No one knew and, to Ferdinand's lack of shock, no one cared. The mage had cooled off before that though, staggering down his visits from almost every weeknight (...really, how had Ferdinand made it to lecture?!) to once a week to a few total blow-offs to never proposing such a meeting again.

And that had been that. It's not like the two _talked _about it, save Hubert's blanket assumptions Ferdinand wouldn't be otherwise preoccupied and implications he'd drop by. Ferdinand wasn't going to chase him down after lecture and demand an explanation for his absence. If Sylvain's misadventures with women doing the very same thing taught him anything, that would end without any hope of another midnight visit and, considering this was Hubert he was dealing with and not the even-tempered Faerghus lordling, a knife in his thigh.

Besides, then the war happened and intimate relations (as impersonal as they were) came secondary to everything else. The two had more important matters at hand. It would be irresponsible for either of them to add sexual encounters into the mix. With the reputation of House Aegir falling on Ferdinand to recover, he couldn't be caught pining over Edelgard's glorified secretary.

Plus, it wasn't as if they ever _liked _each other in the first place. They get along, though moreso after the start of the war and even then, kept it limited to dinnertime chat and the occasional tea. The arrangement hadn't been more than _convenient_ at the time.

Well, for Hubert. Ferdinand isn't sure how he made it to lecture and this is all starting to explain his repeated failing marks in Reason and Heavy Armor. He can't recall which month the Professor held those exams, but the unfortunate timeline comes more to form the longer he lays in bed and tries not to think about how long it's been since the clock chimed for midnight.

With sudden resolve, the Duke apparent bolts upright out of bed and storms across the floor. This isn't their Academy Days. This is a war. His drowsiness won't catch up to him at some inopportune moment on the training grounds and earn him a wooden axe to the forehead. However unlikely, the Monastery is at a constant risk of siege and, also unlikely but in reach of reality, the chances increase if Hubert abandons his post as well. What's more unlikely about all of this is that Hubert _should _realize this. He's taken one too many wooden axes to the forehead himself if he believes there's anything appropriate about his proposal.

Granted, this all might be part of some scheme of Hubert's. For all Ferdinand knows, a siege could be predicted for the morning. Then he would be too tired to fight and die in battle (or worse, be upstaged by Hubert), further tarnishing House Aegir's already besmirched name. Ferdinand assumed he and Hubert were at least close enough associates to avoid such scheming, but Hubert hasn't so much changed over the last five years as much as warped into a concentrated version of his Academy self. It's unlikely, but not out of the realm of possibility.

What's most unlikely (but unfortunate reality) is that Hubert reaches his door at the same moment Ferdinand goes to lock it, and somehow hits him with enough force to knock him on his backside with a flurry of curses. He lands on his shoulder plates, which skid into the foot of the bed with a crash. The mage has the dignity to not respond, nudging the fallen knight out of the way as he slides through the doorway and shuts it behind him.

"Sothis damnit Ferdinand, polish your armor tomorrow!" Caspar barks through the wall for at least the third time since midnight chime. To add to everything, Caspar chose tonight of all nights to have insomnia. Ferdinand should have locked his door the second time his neighbor announced he hadn't fallen into his usual coma-like slumber.

Hubert gives an exasperated eye roll, putting a finger to his lips as if it isn't _obvious _the two have to be quiet.

Ferdinand answers it with a shooing motion. He isn't great at quiet, illustrated by Alois's conviction that he had a particular sensitivity to bees. The Monastery could come under siege tomorrow. The two aren't teenagers anymore. There's a war. Ferdinand is a Goddess-damned _Duke _(or… will be, very soon), he doesn't just _accept _partly-negotiated middle of the night liaisons even if it's been five years since his last one and the memories float through his head the second he has a free moment. And even if he does, he's going to do so on a night where the other party didn't send him all over creation that afternoon searching for the best price onions. He won't be upstaged in a siege.

Given Hubert's second eye roll, none of these points are well conveyed through flailing from the floor. What Ferdinand needs, he decides as he pushes himself back to standing (as if the slimy mage would ever offer him a hand up), is a pen. Writing isn't his chosen form of communication (the low marks there can't be blamed on Hubert), but it will get his point across in a way that doesn't disturb Caspar. The Goddess knows, if Caspar gets a hint that Ferdinand's had guests during the night, the entire Monastery will know before Ferdinand can meet with the Professor. By lunch the little remaining reputation of House Aegir will fall into ruin, and Edelgard will no doubt demand an explanation of his ignorance of any decorum in these trying times.

And he certainly can't admit to Edelgard who the other party in question is. Hubert will stab him in his sleep. House Aegir will be left without a reputation or an heir.

He manages to grab a pen before Hubert's got him by the wrist. It's been far too long since the last time they met up, since Ferdinand freezes and lets it happen. It's been far too long since Hubert's been within half a yard of him, let alone against him. His touch makes his skin go boiling hot, even though Hubert hasn't taken off his gloves. The manifesto on why this is a terrible idea goes up in smoke with the heat.

Hubert himself looks _wild. _ His usual intensity is tripled, with equal parts exasperation, frustration, and impatience. There's a twisted carnal desire behind all of it, far more than Ferdinand ever noticed back the Academy days. It's a good thing he didn't; Caspar would never have gotten any sleep.

He also looks tired as all hell. If nothing else, there's either not a siege predicted for tomorrow or Hubert at least won't upstage him defending against it.

"What in the Goddess' name are you doing?" he hisses, leaning in close enough for Ferdinand to feel his lips form against his own ear. The shake that goes through the knight _must _be loud enough to block the words from Caspar's range of hearing.

It also distracts Ferdinand from giving an actual answer beyond a shrug. 

"Do I need to go?" he asks.

This time, Ferdinand at least is distracted enough to give a conclusive head shake. Hubert's not a total idiot. He knows there's a risk of siege and that his neighbor may be awake. He knows their tryst is _irresponsible_ given their current duties to the Imperial cause. He knows this is by far the most ignoble way they could spend their evening short of defecting and pledging their allegiance to Dimitri. If there's a potential risk and hideous consequence that can result from this encounter, by the Goddess, the Marquis of Vesta has to have thought through it and mitigated it. 

Ferdinand already trusts him with the Imperial army (well, not trust _trusts _but more or less trusts and it's not something he has control over anyway). For one night, he can trust Hubert's judgement here. If there's going to be a second night, he can drag the mage aside and they can have a frank discussion on logistics.

They likely won't have a second engagement. Ferdinand isn't quite sure why they're having _this_ engagement. The timing seems odd, since the Professor just returned and the Imperial army just broke their stalemate. He'd assume Hubert would be too busy (because quite frankly, Ferdinand _is_ and he's not sure why he agreed to this). Hubert's always got some greater scheme going, though. Odd behavior is somewhat normal operation for him.

As if to test a theory, Hubert plucks the pen from Ferdinand's hand and tosses it against the glass of the window. There's anxious silence in the wait of Caspar's fist against the wall. It doesn't come, though both men can't wait more than thirty seconds. 

Ferdinand can't tell who moves first, but at that moment, the last five years haven't passed and both their mouths are smashed together and their tongues are wrestling for control of the situation. Hubert still tastes like coffee, still smells like he took a bath in the stuff. His hands are still soft when he shucks his gloves and they find their way around Ferdinand's waist, under his pajama shirt. He still shows up in way too much clothing, though five years means Ferdinand has to blindly fumble for unfamiliar buttons (his mastery at dismantling an Academy uniform without looking for naught). By the time the other man is less-than-gently steering him towards his bed (which, five years later seems far too small for two people, and if this will continue again Hubert can very well procure him a larger bed), Ferdinand only manages to knock his cape off.

Ferdinand gives up on figuring out Hubert’s jacket and lets himself get pinned. He's stronger, he knows, especially now that he's been wielding a lance on the battlefield through the last five years and Hubert's sat behind a desk when he's not flicking spells. For a split second, he considers turning the tables and flipping the other man underneath him. 

That might discourage… well, everything. Hubert's always sort of sensitive to that sort of display. Plus, once Ferdinand cracked his skull against a shelf in the library trying to overturn the mage's little display of dominance and Hubert didn't speak to him until he'd learned his first heal spell. After five years and not any hint of physical interest out of Hubert, Ferdinand can't afford to ruin this.

Hells, the Duke apparent can't tell if Hubert grinding against him, biting at his ear, always felt _this _good or if additional age and the stress of war have sent all the blood in his brain straight between his legs. His nails scrape down the other man's rear, trying to hold the feeling in place.

Hubert sits up, and for a split second, Ferdinand thinks he's gone too fast. Maybe the mage wanted to take this slower. Maybe after five years he needs to straighten his bearings. Maybe they should have discussed more-

His feelings are alleviated when Hubert slips off his infernal jacket with a smirk and leans down to bite against Ferdinand's neck. The knight groans, digging his nails into the fabric of Hubert's trousers. In turn, the other man locks his feet around Ferdinand's calves to keep him from flailing, which earns him a second groan.

There are another three bangs against the wall from the direction of Caspar's room. "Go to bed!"

Hubert rockets back to sitting and Ferdinand can feel himself go pink to the ears. Five years, and the night ruined by a neighbor with insomnia. Caspar never paid them any mind back in their Academy days. Hell, he slept through the incident where they'd broken three support slats in two (and subsequently spent part of the next morning in the infirmary, removing half a dozen splinters apiece).

Hubert shoots Caspar a deathly glare through the wall, and for a second there's a very real concern that he'll take the whole thing down with a mire spell. As much as Ferdinand wants this… _him_, not at the cost of scandal, potential injury to teammates, and a damaged bedroom. Before Ferdinand can untangle himself and try to talk some sense into Hubert, a mischievous grin grows across the mage's face. As if making a show of it, he picks his gloves off the nightstand and stuffs both in the other man's mouth.

Ferdinand loses any blood that might still have been in his head and his dick grows so hard it's _painful_. He bites back a moan as Hubert leans back in to resume their evening. The neighbors be damned. The Adrestian Army's second-in-command can _always _find a solution.

\--

All in all, Duke Aegir (apparent) gets around an hour of sleep after Hubert scampers off to whatever it is he does at night. It's not sleeping. The rumors abound that Edelgard's second-in-command doesn't sleep, and considering last night marked the first time in five years Ferdinand has seen him at the dormitory, he's inclined to believe the rumors. 

Morning training ends in disaster. Ferdinand predicted the occurrence but not quite the extent. He'd meant to help the Professor with their lance thrusts. It turned into the Professor correcting him on his stance no less than five times and then upending him altogether when they decided to spar.

In lieu of lunch, he finds himself in the infirmary. Manuela fusses over him longer than requisite, explaining all the different bones in his nose and which ones in particular he broke. Ferdinand sits around bleeding for no less than five minutes before politely implying it hurts quite a bit and he's ruining his best ascot, so could she please save her explanation for after the heal spell.

"You don't need to go quite so easy on the dear Professor, you know," she says after she's patched him up with a heal spell and made him a cup of tea, "They're more than seasoned, it's a bit of an insult to let yourself get beat up this much."

"I was not going easy," Ferdinand rebukes, taking a sip of his tea, "I just… failed to sleep much last night."

"Tsk, can't be having that now with the war going on," she chastises, "You'd be felled by a villager with a pitchfork if we were sieged. You need to get some rest today."

"I just need a strong cup of tea. Besides, I cannot, Hubert will undoubtedly need me for something before the end of the afternoon," he grumbles. There's always to be done and Hubert's the master of finding just the member of the Black Eagle Strike Force to do it. As of late, the something that needs doing is collecting groceries in town and the member of the Black Eagle Strike Force with both a sense of duty _and_ warhorse is the one who winds up doing it.

"Take a nap here, then," she suggests, taking the teacup from his hand, "If he comes looking for you, I can tell him you've caught a bug."

Ferdinand can't. His lack of sleep is due to his own stupidity. He should have locked the door last night. He should have told Hubert to leave when presented with the option. He's the Duke Aegir now, damnit, he _cannot _afford to be this sort of flippant. If anybody _deserves _to be felled in a siege by a villager with a pitchfork, it's Ferdinand.

Granted, the Professor broke his nose with a training lance. However unlikely the siege is, death by pitchfork villager holds high odds. Hell, maybe there is a siege predicted. Maybe this is some grand scheme by Hubert to remove House Aegir all together. If that's the case, Hubert can go find his own sacks of onions this afternoon or send anyone else with a horse to every surrounding village.

For the prolonged benefit of House Aegir, Ferdinand decides to take a nap in the infirmary for the bulk of the afternoon.

\--

There's a garish display of flowers next to the bed when Ferdinand wakes. The arranger did a terrible job- clearly picking whatever happened to be growing in the greenhouse and throwing it all in the nearest empty cup. Manuela can't have put them together. The woman spends every free moment in the greenhouse. She knows sunflowers and gladiolus are a horrid combination and that baby's breath is more aesthetically pleasing dispersed through the bouquet instead of clumped in the front.

There's an astonishing amount of them though.

"Oh, those are for you dear," Manuela mentions as he sits up and rubs his eyes, "From a concerned third party, as per the Professor. Word of your bug has gotten around, perhaps take your dinner to your room this evening before there's a panic."

Ferdinand blinks, staring at the display. His room has been looking rather bare as of late. "Who sent them?"

She shrugs, "They didn't mention."

That's as reasonable explanation as any. He can find the Professor later, when he isn't continuing to pretend he's ill (which is a shame, since now that he's rested, he should do some _actual _training). After another cup of tea with Manuela, the bouquet (old cup and all), come with him. They'll brighten up his room, at least.

They almost block Ferdinand from noticing Hubert skulking about the hallway by the stairs. He camouflages rather well with the poor lighting. Perhaps that's his goal with the demonic beast aesthetic he's had going for all these years (or perhaps, as Ferdinand always speculated, the Marquis Vesta was impotent and raised a demonic beast as a child). In any case, he's difficult to see in comparison with the bright blue and orange gladiolus.

"Heard you came down with a bit of illness," Hubert sneers when Ferdinand makes eye contact, "I do hope you aren't contagious."

"I believe I merely needed some rest, is all," Ferdinand shrugs. Hubert should know damn well he's not sick, but the fear of the flu is reasonable. If Hubert gets the flu, he'll refuse to do a damn thing about it and infest the entire Imperial outpost. "Not all of us can survive on such little sleep as you."

"My most sincere apologies. Next time I send you out for groceries I'll make sure you can return at a _reasonable hour._" The emphasis on his last words almost implies that he's not talking about grocery runs into town. Almost. It's hard to tell what of Hubert's rambling is cruel sarcasm and what's implication, and with all honesty, Ferdinand's never been great at discerning either.

In any case, the middle of the hallway is the wrong place and time to discuss it. Anywhere and anytime is the wrong place and time, since they never discussed it in the past. Ferdinand doesn't see any reason to start now, when there are repercussions for being overheard plotting a shirking of their official duties to the Empire. If there is a next time, he'll just lock his door around eleven and give Hubert an implication of his own. Or he'll say no, that this isn't the time or the place for the two to blow off steam, there's a war going on, they need to behave like the nobles they are.

A small part of him does want to ask if there will be another late-night grocery run in the near future, just to ensure he's prepared for it. A larger part of him expects the previous night to be the last. An even larger part wants to get away from Hubert as fast as possible so Ferdinand doesn't wonder any more about the previous night than he already is.

In the end, he settles for "I would appreciate that, thank you" and continues on his way.

\--

The next late-night visit doesn't happen nearly as late, though not without some protest from Ferdinand over bedtimes and a lost debate over the location.

"How about your room?" he asked, when Hubert called him up to his office (well, Seteth's office, that the mage claimed in the aftermath) four days later for a closed door discussion about the poor price he'd gotten for cabbages on the latest grocery run. 

The cabbage prices sidelined for the familiar statement, though Hubert had the decency to phrase it as a question for once.

"My room is unsuitable," he'd responded, point blank, without looking up from the receipts, "We'll have to use yours."

"It is the exact same," Ferdinand had protested. All the second-floor dormitories were the same, despite what Claude might have insisted about Sylvain's corner room back in the day.

Granted, Hubert might have changed rooms. Lindhart took Tomas' old room because of the proximity to the library. Caspar claimed Jeritza's old room for a solid month just because he could, before declaring it haunted one morning at breakfast and moving back to the second floor of the dormitory. Sylvain did the same for a week to prove him a coward, only to come to the same end. After some insistence, Lady Edelgard now resides in the Archbishop's quarters on the third floor. It wouldn't shock Ferdinand to discover Hubert slept at the foot of her bed.

"It is not," Hubert responded, rolling his eyes at the protest, "Besides, that might encourage you to stay the night."

"Do not be too romantic." The quip didn't have any actual bite. In his conscious mind, Ferdinand knows that spending the night isn't business he wants to have with Hubert. They only met each other to blow off steam back in the day. It's the same rationale for the previous week and any future liaisons.

In his conscious mind, Ferdinand also knows he'd try something sappy like that with no shortage of hurt feelings after the other man would put his foot down. It's best that the opportunity never presents itself in the first place. Ferdinand can't miss what he never had, and he's never had Hubert's romantic interest. As such, he's never missed it in the last five years- not once, even when questioning half the damn Monastery as to where Hubert had disappeared to and staring at his ceiling in the early months of the war wishing Hubert hadn't cut off contact.

"If your room is off limits, I hear Jeritza's residence is vacant once again," Hubert mentioned, again without taking his eyes off cabbage receipts. 

"I will pass." It's not that he believes in something as silly as ghosts. It's just that he didn't believe in demonic beasts and whatever it was the Archbishop turned into either, and two reports of ghosts can't bode well for his belief system in the long run. "There is always the library or the Knight's Hall. It is not as if those locations are off-limits after dark anymore."

Hubert holds the keys to both. They could lock the door and no one else at the Monastery would be the wiser. Hell, Hubert could have bent him over the desk in his _office. _The door was shut the whole time.

That forced the mage to look up and cock an eyebrow. "I think we're both a little too old for such behavior."

That was the unfortunate truth. In all respects but formal coronation, Hubert is a Marquis and Ferdinand is a Duke. Granted their liaisons are absurd in the first place, since the two loathe each other (last Ferdinand verbally confirmed anyway, about four years ago; in truth they've been having tea every Tuesday for the last year now) and there's a war. However, if they're going to blow off steam on each other, they can be _dignified _about it.

"Fine," Ferdinand had conceited, faster than he expected to, "But before midnight this time, I have affairs early tomorrow."

Much to his surprise, Hubert answered with "understandable" and kept his promise. He showed up not long after the nine o'clock chime, which is how Ferdinand found himself flat on his back with both of the mage's gloves in his mouth and the mage in question on top of him.

The earlier time slot hadn't made it any easier to dismantle Hubert's uniform. Ferdinand's mastered the cape at this point. That's on the floor by the door, but the rest proves an issue. There's clasps somewhere on the damn jacket (the buttons, as it turned out, are decorative and Ferdinand popped one clean off thinking otherwise; it's by the door with the cape), but Ferdinand can't for the life of him _find _the damn things. 

The lack of blood in his brain isn't helping much. It's all relocated below his waist to precisely the spot Hubert grinds against. Hubert's a little preoccupied sinking his teeth into Ferdinand's neck to help. Thank the Goddess he wears a high collar since that's going to leave a mark and by Sothis how the hell did Hubert unbutton his pajama shirt already and what is _wrong _with this jacket?!

In the end, he gives up on the jacket and hopes going straight for Hubert's ridiculous jodhpurs will encourage the other man to undo it himself. This time he'll watch and figure out where the clasps are. Granted, Ferdinand has even _less _of an idea how his trousers stay up, but hooking his fingers into the waistline and going exploring seems as good an idea as any.

Well, up until his fingers brush against what is definitely the hilt of a knife.

Ferdinand's reflexes have never worked so well, not even when faced with an ambushing archer. Next thing he knows, he's flat on his ass on the floor and Hubert's been smashed into the wall. The mage didn't make a sound in the process of being kicked and/or punched (Ferdinand's not sure which he did; likely some combination of the two), which would be more impressive if he wasn't glaring down at the other man mouthing "WHAT". Ferdinand can imagine the exact combination of anger and bewilderment the tone would carry if he spoke.

"Hey, you all right?!" Caspar calls from the next room, giving the wall a bang.

Of _course_ Caspar is still awake. Hubert rolls his eyes as Ferdinand spits out his gloves to answer. "Just tripped over my chest plate, I am fine!"

"Gotta stop drinking man, I'm telling you!" his neighbor jokes. They both know full well Ferdinand isn't a drinker (drunken stumbling is ignoble, and his one foray with alcohol at a Golden Deer party ended in uncontrolled drunken stumbling into the pond), though he's not sure if Hubert's aware of the fact. As much as he hates grocery runs, he doesn't need the responsibility ripped from him over some baseless rumor about an alcohol problem.

"Very funny!" he responds, glaring at the wall as if Caspar can see. By the time he looks back at Hubert, the damn jacket is off and he's placing the knife on the desk.

Ferdinand will ask _later_ why in Saint Serios's good name he's _armed_. In theory, he supposes it doesn't matter much since Hubert's a mage and can upend Ferdinand without a weapon handy. In practice, it doesn't matter at all, since Hubert does the unthinkable and extends a hand to help the other man off the floor.

In light of that and the fact that Ferdinand can handle his shirt buttons, the question can wait until another time.

\--

"You are going to explain why you showed up to my room with a knife," Ferdinand announces as soon as the door to Seteth's office is shut.

Another time proves to be the next morning. Ferdinand doesn't have any patience with this particular matter and requires explanation. He wants several explanations, in fact, such as why Hubert wants to meet up with him on the regular _now _of all times and why it has to be in Ferdinand's room and not wherever it is Hubert sleeps these days. The army has major plans to advance at the end of the month. The Professor has returned. The Duke apparent isn't about to complain, but surely Hubert has a _million _other tasks that require attendance and the timing isn't making much sense.

He will complain about Hubert having secret weapons on his person, though. Ferdinand could very well wind up stabbed. The Goddess help him if he has to sneak out of his own room covered in blood in the middle of the night, since he has low expectations Hubert will offer up a heal spell. He hasn't used one since the Academy, not even to assist Lady Edelgard.

Hubert glances up from the paperwork he'd been otherwise preoccupied with. "I always carry one. I don't see the issue."

"I could have been stabbed," he huffs in response.

That earns the Duke apparent an eye roll, as Hubert goes back to his paperwork and ceases dignifying his visitor with eye contact. "It's sheathed."

"It is rude not to warn me," Ferdinand points out, "You could have others I did not know about."

"I think you provided a thorough enough pat down to answer that question for yourself." The comment, Ferdinand realizes, marks the first time Hubert has _ever _implied their middle of the night activities involve anything different than sitting down for a hot cup of tea and a chat. Obviously that isn't what they would be doing after dark, in silence, in Ferdinand's room, but the admission that it's anything less innocent than tea feels positively scandalous. 

He goes flush red at the comment, "In any case, it is rude of you not to warn me."

"My apologies," he answers dryly, "I didn't have time to remove it last night. Which I believe is _your _doing, not mine."

Ferdinand barely gave him time to shut the door. In his defense, he missed his liaisons with Hubert more than he expected. Plus, he had to spar with Felix this morning. Time was of the essence to squeeze in both Hubert and a full night of sleep.

"Well, just leave it elsewhere next time," Ferdinand settles on as a response after half a minute of silence.

Hubert shakes his head without looking up, "I'll have to decline your request. Unlike you, I have work to finish; I have to come back here in the dark. Plenty of opportunities to have a run in with an unsavory character."

"You are a mage, hit them with mire and be on your way!" Ferdinand objects, throwing his hands up. If anyone is aware of Hubert's prowess in not requiring a weapon, by the Goddess, it should be _Hubert_.

"Lower your voice," Hubert snaps, going back to eye contact, "And I prefer the comfort of a physical weapon should I need it. Surely you can appreciate that."

Much to his own distaste, Ferdinand can. "Fine. I could just meet you in your office, kill two birds with one stone."

This tiptoeing around Ferdinand's room is a _tad _absurd. Granted, it's all the in good name of not giving Caspar any hints that the two are ignoble enough to prioritize their own desires in wartime, but they're fully fledged adults. And Hubert holds the keys to the entire Monastery on top of taking up shop in an office. They could meet somewhere with less tiptoeing that doesn't require Hubert's gloves in Ferdinand's mouth (even as attractive as Ferdinand has found that is).

"You'll get filth all over my paperwork somehow," Hubert sneers, "Or the carpet. Then I'll have to listen to you complain about cleaning it for the rest of the night."

"Why would I clean the carpet?" Ferdinand throws back, though in mild confusion.

The other man rolls his eyes. "It's not as if we have a cleaning staff."

That doesn't take away from why Ferdinand is cleaning the carpet but he has a feeling it's best to drop this argument lest Hubert give in and he winds up cleaning a carpet. "Well, what about the Officer's Academy? You cannot tell me you would not want a chance to soil the Blue Lion's old classroom."

Hubert snorts a laugh at that, which makes Ferdinand grin in return. Once and awhile, the man laughs at something… _less _than totally malicious. Ferdinand's learned over the years he finds it charming. "I must admit, the proposition is tempting. Unfortunately for the both of us, Lady Edelgard forced me to surrender a set of keys to Felix and Sylvain when I tried to turn it into a supply room last year. Something about goodwill towards allies."

"You cannot tell me they are using it," Ferdinand chuckles, "It is not as if either of them were known for diligent study at the academy. I doubt they will walk in in the middle of the night."

Hubert cocks a bemused eyebrow, "The issue isn't them walking in as much as us."

Oh.

OH.

Well then. That was more information about his comrades than Ferdinand ever needed. And here he'd taken Sylvain for a skirt chaser. "I take it you know this from experience."

Well, Felix had grown his hair out and taken up acting as the Black Eagle Strike Force's resident field dancer. The physical differences between him and say, Leonie, ran few and far between. On an objective level, Felix had the better backside of those two options anyway.

"I still await the day Manuela uncovers a spell to erase memories," Hubert replies, leaning back in his chair. "Unfortunately, your room will have to do and my knife will have to stay.

There's going to be no arguing this room situation, Caspar's insomnia or no. One of these days, Ferdinand is going to slip up and their little trysts will be discovered. Then Caspar will tell the entire Monastery because that's what Caspar does with even the smallest pieces of information. The Goddess knows, everyone is well aware of both mysterious rashes Lindhart broke out with last Wyvern Moon (one of which turned out to be poison oak, which Ferdinand also knows due to Caspar).

And then well, they'll end. Both lords have too much dignity for this sort of scandal. There's a war going on. Ferdinand has the house name of Aegir to uphold and battles to fight and populaces to defend. Hubert has the day-to-day logistics of the entire Imperial army to sort out and propaganda to write and treaties to barter. They shouldn't meet up at all. It's a besmirchment on their duties to Lady Edelgard and all of the Adrestian Empire.

Ferdinand hasn't been this relaxed in five years, though, even with shirking his noble responsibilities. There's a sense of calm that's been missing from his life since… well, since the war started. He's still got a list of responsibilities a mile long, but they don't seem as much an endless parade as a set routine (that Hubert could fit into neatly if he kept his appearances to reasonable hours).

"Well, at least I know it is there now," is the best response he can settle on. If Hubert can live with the risk, Ferdinand can trust him. Perhaps he does intend to waste a heal spell if Ferdinand winds up stabbed due to a poorly sheathed weapon. He'll have to make sure Hubert takes proper care of the knife. The Duke Aegir (apparent) considers it his solemn duty to ensure everyone living at the Monastery follows proper weapons maintenance, but he can't very well be responsible for weapons he doesn't know exist.

"That you do," Hubert muses, "Are you done with your morning engagements, by the way?"

"More or less," Ferdinand shrugs. He ought to go listen to the Professor's lecture, but these days they're more of a formality than a requirement.

"Then I need you to go down to Remire and pick up two bushels of potatoes and a sack of carrots," Hubert holds up what is no doubt a supply list, "No more than twenty-five gold for the lot of it."

Ah yes, a supply run. Ferdinand's favorite. "What if they want more than twenty-five?"

"Then go to the next village and see if they can beat the price," Hubert sighs, before adding, "That is, if you can sit in a saddle that long."

Ferdinand takes the list and seethes a bit at the joke. "I shall be fine."

In all reality, his ass hurts after last night. He can't think of anything he wants to do less than spend the rest of the day riding between villages in search of the best price on potatoes. At least last time, he had the advantage of napping all day.

"I thought as much," Hubert smirks, "If you get back early, we should meet for tea."

"I know better than to think I will be back before dark from a grocery run." Remire might give him the twenty-five gold for the lot of it, but he knows of at least two villages he could bargain down to twenty. This errand will take him well into afternoon.

"Well, in any case, I'll take a late dinner as usual," he says with a shrug, "You're welcome to eat somewhere aside from the stables."

\--

In the end, Ferdinand missed tea and dinner, but he got the lot of groceries for sixteen gold, which was a win in his books. It must have been a win in Hubert's too, because he didn't have any snide remarks when he dropped off the receipts later that evening.

Then, due to some unfortunate outbreaks of actual flu, Petra, Sylvain, and Leonie took ill. Ferdinand found himself on an entire week of unplanned night guard duty, which meant sleeping during the day and not seeing anyone besides guard battalions until breakfast. Night guard usually left him unphased but, with the invasion of Derdriu scheduled for the end of month, left him pacing the walls. That would leave him with less than a week to prepare his archer battalion, run drills with the Strike Force, confirm weapons, pack, prepare his horse, prepare Sylvain's horse, and then pack a second time (there would be a third time no doubt; he'd never gotten the hang of packing his belongings light enough the first few go arounds).

Hubert did pay him a visit to bring him a cup of tea around Thursday and critique his guardsmen posting decisions, which alleviated some of the stress. That ended in a lengthy debate of whether or not three guardsmen could handle the east wall or if it needed six. Ferdinand maintained six. The front gate would be too obvious an attack point, opposing forces would avoid. In any case, the Duke apparent was captain of the guard that night and not Hubert. The east wall got six postings (admittedly when Hubert skulked off around two or three, he had one moved from the Cathedral to the main gate).

By the time Sunday rolled into Monday which rolled into breakfast, Ferdinand had a to-do list a mile long for when he woke up later that afternoon. The priorities kept changing, and in all reality, hinged on the schedules of the rest of the Strike Force. What he _needed _to do was chug a few cups of the blackest tea in his collection (or better yet, Hubert's coffee) and make it to the Monday morning training meeting. With four days to go, the Professor must have rolled out a rough battle tactic for him to review.

If he made the morning training meeting though, he'd have to sleep through the afternoon and into the evening. That would eliminate the possibility of drills with well… most the Strike Force. He could put those off until tomorrow but that would hinge on who wasn't busy after the Tuesday meeting, and quite frankly, the best way to get a glimpse of everyone else's schedule would be to go to the Monday meeting. He could always excuse himself around nine if everyone's Tuesday looked full but-

"Ferdie, did something happen on guard shift last night?" Dorothea asks as she sits down across from him with a bowl of porridge, "You look distressed."

"I am perfectly fine?" Ferdinand responds, though the words came out as more of a question.

"I hope you haven't come down with that flu," Hubert says from somewhere behind Ferdinand, making him almost jump into his own bowl of porridge. The mage takes the chair next to him, clutching a cup of coffee. 

"I could say the same to you. You must have taken ill if you are speaking before your first cup of coffee," Ferdinand grumbles back as he steadies his bowl. 

If there is one thing that Ferdinand has learned since coming to the Academy, it's the fact that Hubert von Vestra doesn't function without at least a liter caffeinated beverage in his system. Ferdinand knows from personal conversation that coffee is preferred but anything will do. Caspar once swore he'd seen the man suck on a tea bag in a pre-dawn engagement with some bandits down in a village.

Hubert smirks, "Good thing this is my third. With the battle we have coming, sleeping in is a bit of a luxury."

"Surmised my entire week," the knight chuckles in return.

"Something must be going around if you two aren't at each other's throats," Dorothea jokes before taking a bite of her porridge and wincing, "Well, that's inedible I suppose."

"There is not much that can be said for the breakfast rations around here," Ferdinand shrugs, "I would know, I have been eating them all week."

His strategy has been to skip every other meal at night so he's hungry enough to not care about the sorry state of the breakfast porridge. If he keeps this up for another week he may even fit back into his uniform trousers.

"I would make a comment, but I believe a certain Duke was rather proud of the price he got on porridge grain," Hubert says as he puts down his cup of coffee.

And Ferdinand still is, which is why, despite the numerous quality complaints, he's eating the porridge every morning. "It would go against my vows as an Adrestian Duke to not conserve funds wherever possible."

Dorothea stands, shaking her head. "I hate to see what the food is going to look like when you finally get coronated and take your vows."

"Intended vows," he corrects himself, taking a bite of lukewarm porridge just to prove his point. The taste combined with the residual physiological effects from the shift change send his stomach into knots. Dorothea may have had a point.

"This can be solved by skipping breakfast," Hubert reminds her.

"We can't all go to training on an empty stomach," she shoots back, "By the way, what is the plan for training today?"

"As far as I am aware, reviewing the battle plan for Derdriu," the mage responds, sipping his coffee.

Dorothea groans as she turns to exit the dining hall, "Better scrounge up a piece of fruit in that case."

Ferdinand all but wilts into his porridge. This will keep him busy through lunch. Not only will he be half awake for all important tactics discussions, but he'll be useless for the rest of the day as well.

Hubert pushes his coffee cup in front of the other man, "You need this more than I."

As much as he's not a fan of Hubert's sludge masquerading as an innocent cup of coffee, Ferdinand can't disagree and drains the cup before anyone in the dining hall takes notice of his goodwill.

"I would inquire about visiting your room later," Hubert mentions under his breath, "but in light of your mood this morning you have more important things to consider."

The flu must have been passed around if he's willing to bring this topic up in the _dining hall _where _anyone_ could overhear. Granted, there's still half an hour to dawn and everyone would blame it on a residual dream not yet dissipating (Ferdinand would blame it on this himself if he hasn't been awake since the previous afternoon). It doesn't detract from the reality that Hubert's _saying _this in _public. _Either he's fallen critically ill or the preparations for Derdriu have robbed him of all conscious thought.

Regardless, the proposition is attractive as all hell. If there was a week they needed to relieve some stress, it would be this one. It takes Ferdinand almost a full minute to come to his senses and shake his head. There's no way this fits into his already convoluted schedule. "Unfortunately, I will be rather busy today and at least tomorrow."

"Understand," Hubert stands, off to skulk about the second floor before their training if Ferdinand had to guess, "If you do happen to have a free evening, please do let me know."

Ferdinand can feel himself start to blush as the mage walks out of the dining hall. The most responsible course of action feels to be vacating the dining hall himself, out the other exit and into the courtyard for some fresh air. While there isn't enough fresh air in Fódlan to relocate his blood back to his brain. At least the shock has given him a second wind of energy for training.

\--

In the end, Ferdinand's second wind lasted until about ten, when even the grim predictions of their upcoming battle couldn't keep him awake for another second. He dozed off on the Cardinal room table and Caspar had to escort him back to his room at lunch. As a result, the Duke apparent had to spend half the night awake again in the armory, inventorying available weapons. His sparring sessions with Leonie, Bernadetta, and Felix went… well, poorly the next afternoon, but he could at least confirm the three were ready for battle even if he wasn't.

It didn't help that the proposition from Hubert weighed on his mind. Ferdinand toyed with the idea of renouncing his title and saying to hell with his responsibilities _twice_. That wasn't an actual option with the eleven hundred years of House Aegir's legacy falling to him, but the fantasy kept him entertained while he chased Sylvain down to make sure his horse had been reshoed.

The lone saving grace was that Hubert took him off grocery runs. He protested that anyway, since Sylvain couldn't be trusted to run down to the villages _and _prepare his warhorse for battle (which Hubert met with a 'he damn well better be able to after five years in this army', and Ferdinand couldn't quite argue with the sentiment). That freed him up to spar with Petra, Dorothea, Ashe, and the Professor which more or less checked off the rest of his roster (Lady Edelgard was too busy, Sylvain was a waste of his time, and he ate the better part of the afternoon trying to _find _Lindhart before giving up).

With his second weapons inventory complete by Wednesday and his afternoon well spent with Lady Edelgard and the Professor compiling the tactical plan for the attack, he couldn't conjure up a good enough excuse to not invite Hubert to his room. Thursday and Friday, the Strike Force would be on the march, which thanks to his horse didn't require _one-hundred-percent _consciousness. Besides, if he was exhausted on Thursday, sleeping on the ground wouldn't trouble him. Ferdinand had some difficulty falling asleep the first night of marches. 

Really, letting the Adrestian Empire's second-in-command keep him up half the night was the responsible decision.

Even though Hubert showed up well before the midnight chime, he seemed intent to drag their night out until dawn. His own responsibilities for battle preparation must have weighed down on him. Five years ago, the only time their liaisons approached anything resembling intimate were when Hubert was stressed to hell.

Well, the first time could have been mistaken for setting of the field off the west wall of the Monastery at sunset (after a long afternoon of Hubert falling off Ferdinand's horse in preparation for their riding exam), giving Ferdinand a few weeks of panic that a day might come where he'd have to introduce the House Vestra heir to his father. Three weeks later, Lady Edelgard chastised him for blackmailing Lorenz over something or another, and Hubert showed up unprompted in the dead of night to do nothing more than wrap around Ferdinand until dawn. After careful consideration, Ferdinand blamed the stress.

This evening goes in a similar manner, but amplified far beyond anything more Academy stress could bring on. There's no accosting at the door this time, no pinning, no teeth in Ferdinand's shoulder, no gloves stuffed in his mouth to shut him up. They lay in Ferdinand's bed in silence, with Hubert's fingers tracing through his tangled hair and running up and down his spine. His kisses are lazy. He has every intent on this last all night.

Ferdinand has never felt so conflicted. On one hand, he wants to pin Hubert down himself and force him to get on with it. On the other hand, he wants to stay curled against Hubert's chest until civilization itself crumbles. Damn the war, damn the Empire, damn the packing he still hasn't finished (he could get that after Hubert left, how hard could packing on the first try be?).

Sometime after the midnight chime, Hubert either decides he'd had enough of dragging this out until Ferdinand's testicles turn blue or remembers there's still preparations to be accounted for, since his hands inch their way lower and his kisses start to include teeth. Ferdinand's nails dig into Hubert's shoulders and the mage arches into him. In the back of his mind, it registers that Ferdinand or Hubert or both are moaning. They dragged it out too long, they didn't drag it out long enough… the knight can't decide and he can't bring himself to care. Nothing matters one damn bit, especially when Hubert's hand wanders between his legs and makes Ferdinand swear to the Goddess herself and-

"OH BY THE FUCKING GODDESS FERDINAND!"

Both men freeze. Hubert's eyes go wide in a terror Ferdinand hasn't seen since Lady Edelgard told him he should pass his riding exam. Caspar's fist bangs against the wall with so much force that Ferdinand's immediate concern is the integrity of the stone. 

There's the uncanny sound of feet stomping on the floor, followed by proclamations of "I'm going to kick your fucking ass!", followed by a door slam. Ferdinand rockets out of bed, scrambling as Caspar starts yanking on his doorknob. This won't be resolved without engaging Caspar and talking him down (it may not be resolved with it either), and the door's hinges can't withstand stalling.

Granted, engaging Caspar isn't an option with Hubert in his room, not when the man has gone sheet white and looks like a rabbit trapped on the rocks.

There's nowhere to hide in Ferdinand's room. He'll have to try to knock Caspar back, make it look like an accident, and hold their conversation in the safety of the hallway. With the rage and fury behind the fighter (not to mention the failing door hinges and lack of armor), that's not exactly an option. "One moment!"

"Open this fucking door Ferdinand or I'm going to break it down and kill you!"

Well, there's a wardrobe (requisitioned from Alois's room back at the start of the war- a lovely Brigid mahogany with a carving of an eagle on the doors). He stores old suit of armor there, but Hubert's skinny. He'll fit.

Hubert must have noticed this option (or lack thereof) himself, since he's staring at the wardrobe with trepidation.

"Let me put some pants on Caspar!" Ferdinand calls back, shoving Hubert out of bed and towards his wardrobe. It's going to have to do.

There's a crash as Hubert hits an old breastplate, but he manages to stay quiet and squeeze himself fast enough for Ferdinand to shut the door behind him.

Caspar yanks on the door so hard the hinges threaten to split. "Oh, I'll kill you naked!"

"One second!" His pajama pants didn't get thrown into a far corner, at least. Ferdinand pulls them above his waste as he undoes his deadbolt, jumping when Caspar throws his door open.

The fighter grabs Ferdinand by both shoulders. The malice in his eye isn't far off from the times he's drank too much and picked a fight with… well, anyone standing around (Sylvain more often than not, since Sylvain's the only one foolish enough to egg him on). "We are going into the biggest battle of this war tomorrow and I have been stuck listening to you fucking _moan _instead of sleep for the last _two hours_! For the love of Sothis and Seiros and the ten go visit a brothel when we get back!"

"I would _never_!" Ferdinand snaps back, insulted by the implication a noble of his status would ever visit a house of ill repute. He realizes this is an admission of _some _level of guilt, however (not quite to the level he's guilty of, but some level), and backtracks. "You must be hearing something, I have been asleep!"

There's a banging on the floor, which must be Petra now awake downstairs. Caspar glances down at the source and curses to himself. If Petra comes upstairs, more will wake up, and Hubert will spend all night in Ferdinand's wardrobe. Caspar _must _realize no one in the dormitory will sleep tonight at the decibel level with which he's threatening murder and take it down a notch.

"Oh bull_shit_!" he yells at a whisper, though he shakes Ferdinand as he speaks, "I thought someone was _in here_ with you, you were so fucking _loud_!"

Ferdinand prays to Sothis that his face doesn't go red. "Th-there is no one, _obviously_. And I was sleeping! The ghosts from Jeritza's room must have relocated!"

He can almost _see_ Hubert slapping his palm to his forehead at the lame recovery. Ferdinand isn't great at thinking under pressure, hence why preparing for battle takes three days and all free time goes to training.

Thankfully, it's a lame enough retort to disarm Caspar, who relinquishes his hold to instead clench his fists. "_I _need to sleep. If I hear one more sound out of… anything, I will come back here and turn you into a ghost, so you can investigate this shit yourself!"

"It was not me, Caspar." Ferdinand has never lied so many times in a row in his life, and he hopes his neighbor doesn't want to shake on the words. The sweat dripping from his palms will give him away.

Through some miracle of the Goddess, Caspar turns and stomps back into the hall. "Whatever, go to bed."

Hubert manages to stumble out of the wardrobe without any clattering as Ferdinand shuts the door and throws the deadbolt. Locking it is stupid. As soon as Caspar falls back asleep, the other man will disappear for the night. Ferdinand certainly isn't in the mood to continue their evening and won't be for months after that fiasco. Hubert will have to live with that fact. He throws up his hands in defeat to indicate as much and hopes the other man can understand without a pen and paper.

Hubert returns the gesture before ruffling the bedsheets to find his drawers. He looks… well, _dejected_, which isn't a look Ferdinand can ever say he's seen on the man. It's downright unsettling. It's unsettling on a level Ferdinand _can't _explain, either, which feels somehow worse. It's abnormal and unnatural, but it also makes him want to do something to _fix _the issue rather than run or check all surrounding liquids for poison (like when Hubert does something kind or compliments a teammate).

In any case, Caspar still stomps about his room cursing both Ferdinand and his lack of ability to fall asleep, so neither man can run anywhere. Hubert might be able to slip out without a sound, but he seems to recognize the risk of discovery and sits on the bed instead, leaning against the other wall. Ferdinand flops down next to him and sighs.

Instead of a nice evening with the best distraction from mortal danger in the Adrestian army, they'll both stare at brick and listen to Caspar curse for what hopefully isn't hours. The required silence might be the worst part. Really, Ferdinand wants nothing more than to listen to Hubert curse Caspar's insomnia and maybe make fun of Ferdinand for his absurd handling of the situation. Maybe he'd complain about the wardrobe (the knight is more than aware it smells as if a racoon died in there; he's been meaning to do something about it). If they could, they would eventually double over laughing and Ferdinand hurts to know it won't happen.

Tomorrow is the march, so they can't even jest about it in the privacy of Seteth's office over afternoon tea. Once they get back (_if_ they get back, Ferdinand realizes with a physical chill), there will be post-battle review meetings, preparations of how to handle the aftermath, supplies to procure, weapons to repair… it might be another month before either man has time to see each other.

Amidst Caspar cursing Ferdinand's house and mother, Hubert's hand suddenly grasps Ferdinand's. The gesture makes him all but jump out of bed. Glancing over, Hubert's stone-faced grimacing at the wall and it's more-impossible-than-usual to read his potential motives. They've never held hands before. Hubert grabs his wrists on occasion when they're in bed and once yanked him around a battlefield by his upper arm (he'd been hit on the head one too many times and wandered into a pit of archers), but this is the first defined instance of hand-on-hand contact.

The Duke Aegir (apparent) decides he's far too tired and strung out to ponder through this. Nothing about tonight is going his way, it's only fair that nothing Hubert's doing is making any sense. Maybe he'll explain himself in two months out of the blue, like Ferdinand's always hoped for in secret. Maybe Hubert will avoid him for another five years after Derdriu.

It doesn't matter either way right now. Ferdinand squirms a bit until his fingers are interlaced with the other man's and they sit shoulder to shoulder. For now, he's going to enjoy what little he can while sitting in the dark, listening to Caspar stomp about, and slowly sinking into Hubert's shoulder as his eyelids get heavy.

\--

Hubert's gone by the time Ferdinand wakes up to the Professor banging on his door, announcing that he's got two hours before the march. After a scramble of packing, Ferdinand _does _make it with time to spare. As an added bonus, the Professor assigns him to the vanguard and Caspar to the rear, so they don't have to interact after their argument last night. 

Hubert is assigned vanguard as well, but that goes without saying since he's never out of Lady Edelgard's shadow during battles. Ferdinand learned long ago that vying for his coveted position near Lady Edelgard in a fight is a fruitless endeavor (and in any case his talents are best spent… well, everywhere else on the battlefield). It also means he won't be interacting with Hubert until after Derdriu. That's more or less their normal behavior for battle but feels somewhat strange given all their encounters as of late. 

Somewhere around noon, Ferdinand decides the arrangement is for the better. The last few weeks have been… well, a departure from his normal exemplary behavior. Last night was a grievous overestimate of where his liaisons with Hubert fit in his life among his many responsibilities as Duke Aegir (apparent). The march serves as a centering of sorts. When he gets back, he'll have a frank discussion with Hubert about the propriety of their trysts (or at least, using Ferdinand's room for them, which is clearly _not an option_). Either the mage can invite Ferdinand to his new residence and adjust his timing, or they shall have to call it off. As of right now, it's going to end in an egregious display of how the two are failing the Adrestian Empire and the wartime cause with… well, sex.

Ferdinand decides he has the march back to figure out a way to phrase that.

Staying up half the night _does_ ensure Ferdinand sleeps through the night. He should have packed before agreeing to allow Hubert in his room however, since additional pairs of socks never made it into his pack. It's not the worst thing he's ever forgotten for battle (he's yet to live down having to ask the Professor to borrow a sword on their first tussle with bandits during the Academy years), nor even the first time he's forgotten socks. It could be worse.

\--

Derdriu ends up a disaster.

Ferdinand had a vague memory of the pale haired girl from the Golden Deer house (Lysia? Lysteria? Lysthia?) leading the front charge but couldn't do more than place the face with the class. If the defense hadn't been led by Claude himself, he couldn't have guessed she was a Golden Deer either. He definitely did not remember anything about her specialization. 

In his defense, the knight didn't have much time to think about it. He didn't see her until he pulled his lance out of an archer, turned his head, and noticed the purple blob b-lining for an already overwhelmed Hubert (well, a Hubert taking the life out of an axefighter, but Ferdinand's never been one to trust any fighter without a weapon to hold their own on the field).

Years of training kicked his instincts into _overdrive_. Before he had much time to ponder through the situation, he'd directed his horse halfway across the battlefield and performed his sloppiest short spear throw to date. She dodged, which didn't come as a shock, but his attack successfully redirected her attention from Hubert.

In retrospect, he _should _have spent more of his Academy time socializing with other houses, if for nothing more than to remember what his future enemies excelled at. The spell knocked him clean off his horse before he could process that she used magic.

Everything after was a blur. Ferdinand can remember standing back up and announcing that he'd need to retreat back to camp. With a blink, he was on his back, watching a very fuzzy battalion of pegasus knights bombard the girl. His conscious faded in and out. There was some yelling somewhere between those moments, and perhaps a hallucination because he has a clear memory of Hubert standing over him, using a heal spell (the mage avoids using white magic at all costs, that _had _to be a hallucination).

After that he must have blacked out, since his next memory is in a wagon, with Dorothea and Hubert hovering over him. That seemed like a hallucination as well, as did the next few that involved Edelgard and Hubert then the Professor and Hubert. At some point, he hallucinated just Hubert, slumped over next to him. He might have been dead. If they'd lost the battle and everyone died, that would explain the company. Ferdinand asked as much.

The hallucination Hubert cracked and eye open and snapped back that he wasn't, which was something of a relief. The entirety of the House Aegir ancestors would be awaiting him in the afterlife. He couldn't imagine how to begin explaining that the heir of House Aegir passed saving the current head of House Vestra. His grandfather and his great uncle would be furious.

Not that he doesn't continue to half-ponder his wording to them until he regains full consciousness in the infirmary back at the Monastery. It takes him almost a solid five minutes to survey his surroundings and confirm he's not still in Derdriu. The uncomfortable beds and scratchy sheets are the biggest clue. Someone's taken his armor and his shirt, though on further review there's a barely-healed gorge out of his chest so that's not so much of a shock.

Instead of Manuela, _Hubert _of all people sits at her table, going over what's probably a stack of procurement requests.

"Oh good, you're still with us," the mage glowers from the table, glancing up from his paperwork and scowling.

Ferdinand rubs his eyes, not sure if he's hallucinating all of this. They were _just _in battle. Maybe they spent a few hours to ride that wagon back to the camp, but they should still be within Alliance territory. "How long have I been back here?"

"Six hours?" The wave of his hand indicates he has no idea and it doesn't much matter.

"...Did we take Derdriu?"

"Yes, though with no help from your bumbling about and trying to get yourself killed," he snaps back, shuffling his paperwork into a stack. "I'd ask what possessed you to ignore the tactics plan established _before _the battle, but unfortunately you landed on your head when you fell. I doubt you remember yourself."

Ferdinand wants to protest that the mage girl was heading right for Hubert but, within the safety of Garreg Mach, realizes that his explanation makes him look more like a dolt than he's already made himself seem. If anyone on the Black Eagle Strike Force can take a direct magic hit, it would have been Hubert. Ferdinand just opted to take it for him and almost die for his troubles.

Manuela appears at about that moment, saving the Duke apparent from having to offer any response. "Thank you for covering for me, I was positively famished! Oh fantastic! Ferdinand has decided to wake up."

"And appears to only be as stupid as before he got hit in the head," Hubert spits, standing from the table, "No additional damage done."

"I am sorry, I was just trying to determine how the battle went!" Hubert hasn't calmed on the sarcastic asshole front, but it's been a few years since he's had this many blatant attacks at Ferdinand. He _should _be thrilled. They took Derdriu, which means the Alliance isn't a problem anymore and the Imperial army took its biggest advancement in years. Hubert should be jumping for joy.

The mage shoots him a glare, then turns back to Manuela. "See, good as new."

"Well, let me take another look at him," Manuela chuckles, "At the very least he'll need to stay on bed rest for the remainder of the week."

This isn't the time for bed rest, not if Derdriu came under Imperial control. Hubert can't agree with her sentiments either, they've been gone for… well, Ferdinand has no idea but at least a week. Even without preparations to continue the war with their new stronghold, _someone _needs to make a new weapons inventory and ensure the Monastery isn't overcharged for onions and cabbage. "I cannot-"

"I will have to take my leave, we have a meeting soon," Hubert cuts him off, turning towards the door, "Thank you for nursing him back to health."

"Wait, what meeting?" Ferdinand shoots, but Hubert's gone and Manuela's hovering over him to take his vital signs.

"Oh for the Goddess' sake, stop squirming," she chastises, "You took quite the hit, you'll need time to recover."

"I do not have time! And what meeting am I missing? What is the status in Derdriu, who is left holding the city?" The list of questions is a mile long, and Hubert can't grant him the courtesy to stick around long enough to answer them. "And what the hell is wrong with Hubert?"

"Tired, if I had to guess," Manuela muses, holding Ferdinand's arm still so she can finish her heal spell, "Poor boy's been in here all night, after marching straight back from Derdriu."

Ferdinand snaps to attention at that, freezing enough for Manuela to finish her spell. Nobody is busier than the second-in-command in the aftermath of a battle. He should have had a to-do list forty miles long, not waiting around the infirmary to snap at Ferdinand. "Wait, then when did the battle end?"

"I think two days ago. The debrief meeting is coming up. If you promise to go straight to bed after I suppose I can permit you to walk down the hall to the meeting."

"Why are we having the debrief now?" Hubert ran those to some degree or another and always insisted on holding the meetings as soon after the battle as possible. Sometimes as soon as possible was back at Garreg Mach, because the battle had been a stunning disaster and they went on the retreat. If they _took _Derdriu, though, Hubert should have held it at Derdriu.

Something has gone critically wrong with this war and Hubert's refusing to tell him. It's starting to feel like the original siege on Garreg Mach. Hubert went cold on Ferdinand and stories stopped matching up and then the knight found himself almost left out of the start of the war. This _feels _similar, though the Black Eagle Strike Force has been established, the members have sworn their oaths to the Emperor, and _Ferdinand _is halfway to a fully-fledged advisor.

The second-in-command has _no right _to be terse with an explanation of what befell the team at Derdriu.

"The second half of the march only arrived this morning," Manuela explains, without a smidgen of care as far as Ferdinand's growing distress, "The group carrying you came last night."

Sending back the group disjointed is _also _out of the ordinary. Something else has happened that required part of the Strike Force to leave. Whatever Hubert's plotting for their next move, he won't be leaving Ferdinand out of it. Not this time. "Ah, I see. Well, would you mind if I excused myself now? I should like to talk to Hubert before we start the meeting and try to get more details."

"I would recommend he take some bed rest himself," Manuela sighs, "But I suppose I won't talk him into that. Just stay on the floor, don't go tearing about the Monastery."

With any luck, Hubert hasn't gone tearing about the Monastery himself and Ferdinand won't have to disobey Manuela's recommendations. The mage is thankfully glued to the desk in Seteth's office down the hall, surrounded by stacks of loose paper. A few pages go flying as Ferdinand marches in and slams the door shut behind him, anxious to hear about the outcome of Derdriu.

Hubert glances up at the door slam, eyeing the pieces of paper that have scattered on the floor. He sighs, putting down his pen. "I thought Manuela mentioned you would be on bed rest for the week."

"She is allowing me to go about the hall. And to this meeting you have failed to mention," Ferdinand accuses as the other man stands to pick up the paper. He feels a bit bad for that. Hopefully it isn't more than loose notes and not treaties or messages to dignitaries; one grazed a teacup filled with what's likely cold coffee.

"It is our post-action review meeting, as we have held after every event in the last five years," he stacks the pages back on his desk, "It hardly _needs _mentioning since everyone is expected to show up."

"Why was it not held at Derdriu? Did we not take the city?! What happened?!" Ferdinand is at a loss, and his temper starts to steam at Hubert's attitude. 

Even at their worst, Hubert doesn't make a point to hide battle information from Ferdinand, not since the start of the war. Assassinations, backhanded deals, blackmail, liaisons with a few unsavory characters that have proved incremental to their cause… Ferdinand knows better than to ask and the House Vestra heir keeps that business to himself. Battles and tactics, however, they've _agreed _to share freely. Ferdinand started a fight with him for hiding Lady Edelgard's plan to root Garreg Mach after the Black Eagles had to abscond from Rhea and regroup.

The mage huffs and sits back in his chair, glaring at the unwelcome visitor. "Ah, so you'd like to know the course of the battle, then?"

"Well, of course!" He stamps his foot on the carpet for added effect, but it doesn't do more than make his wound burn. Noted, stamping is out.

"Well, after you charged at Lysithea from your post _halfway across the town_, she all but killed you," he seethes, "You didn't die on the battlefield because I was her intended target and close enough to keep you stable-"

...That explains one of Ferdinand's hallucinations then.

"-until Lady Edelgard could remove Claude from this world. After which, several of us had to make haste for Garreg Mach because even Dorothea could not convince the healers in Derdriu to assist you. Lady Edelgard opted to leave the elder Count Bergliez in control in our stead."

"Why did you or Lady Edelgard not stay?" he asks, hesitating a bit out of fear of the answer. "Does Derdriu not need some organization?"

"Because despite copious evidence to the contrary, Lady Edelgard insists on considering you a valuable member of the Strike Force and was more than concerned with your wellbeing," he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, "And I left because I have made numerous foolish decisions that have recently come to light."

The message comes in at the volume of a dozen choruses- the Strike Force u-turned on Derdriu because of Ferdinand. There's no tactical plan. There's no unexpected change in the war. Ferdinand von Aegir has inconvenienced the entire Black Eagle Strike Force and possibly the Adrestian army itself.

For a split second, he regrets living through the affair. The feeling reanimates when Hubert lifts his head and stares him dead in the eyes. "Well, do you not have anything to say for yourself, as _you_ were the one that wrote and then ignored the tactical plan for the battle?"

Well, the Professor had the final decision. Ferdinand took the notes of their meeting because out of the options in the Black Eagle Strike Force, his penmanship is best. He did ignore it though, since he, Dorothea, and Bernadetta were tasked with routing the enemies along the western edge of the city. Hubert accompanied the Professor and Lady Edelgard and had wound up on the main avenue through Derdriu. By pure luck Ferdinand spotted them down an alleyway at a key moment.

"...You did not notice her approach, I thought the worst when I saw her take aim," Ferdinand explains, his voice quiet.

"And instead, the worst wound up aimed at you. Did you consider at any point in your absurd assault that as a proficient in dark magic I might have no trouble defending against_ dark magic_?"

Ferdinand hesitates, trying to phrase the honest to Goddess truth. "...I did not think-"

"Precisely," Hubert cuts him off, scowling, "You did not. And as such, it is a miracle of… fortune that Lady Edelgard was able to come out of battle unscathed without my assistance."

There's a few reminders that could be given as to how Lady Edelgard has more fighting prowess than all members of the Strike Force combined. She could rip Hubert limb from limb should she ever realize her second-in-command is a two-faced snake. Ferdinand decides to keep that fun fact to himself.

"Instead of organizing our own supply lines and a stockade of the Kingdom, she had to leave that dolt war minister in charge of things so we could all reconvene at the Monastery on _your _behalf," he continues as the other man goes whiter and whiter, "The _sole_ positive outcome aside from taking Derdriu perhaps is that Lysithea surrendered after Petra disarmed her and has agreed to join our cause. She'll be in attendance later."

"That… I suppose is fortunate," Ferdinand mumbles. One more overpowered mage is always a boon to an army. The Strike Force has five counting the Professor, but six is a sizable number of overpowered squishable types.

At the very least, Ferdinand won't be charging into battle to save Lysithea's life anytime soon.

"One fortune, yes," Hubert stands from his desk, "Amidst countless near setbacks because of your idiotic attempt at valor!"

"I was attempting to save you!" he shoots back, striding forward and meeting the mage as close to eye-to-eye as he can reach. His growth spurts never did catch him up. Hubert's mother must be a giant, since Ferdinand has met the late Marquis Vestra and is pretty sure Hubert outgrew him before puberty.

Other than the height he's a spitting image of his father, though. Perhaps it's fortunate they're both men. The von Aegir ancestors would roll in their graves if those genetics seeped into the familial line and took over.

"Ferdinand, this isn't some storybook where the knight saves the Princess and lives!" Hubert all but yells, "This is a real war!"

"Where you could have died a _real death_!" He waves his arms with that point and immediately regrets it. The wound on his chest burns with protest.

"You're a fool!" Hubert spits in return.

"A fool who will not see your life risked!" That's the uncomfortable truth neither want to address. Addressing it would require much farther admittances, starting with Hubert admitting that they had any kind of interpersonal interaction in the first place and ending with Ferdinand admitting he took their interpersonal interaction personally and might have fallen for the man somewhere down the line.

If Ferdinand doesn't admit this to himself, he might believe it untrue eventually.

The other man sighs, before taking a step back and bracing both arms on the table. "I should have stuck with my original plan and waited until the end of the war to rekindle a relationship with you, because if anything is apparent from Derdriu, _neither _of us can manage!"

That's more than a bit of a shock, enough that Ferdinand can't do much more than gape. Sure, in the worst of a sleepless night, he'll imagine his pillow is Hubert and he'd doze off easy if the two could curl up together. He might have entertained a fantasy or four or five where they live a blasé domestic life together, after a rousing day in the Enbarr courts. He's eaten dinners alone and missed Hubert's company. He was downright upset (for a multitude of reasons) when Hubert refused to train with him after the start of the war.

Any plans beyond 'pining indefinitely forever' and 'midnight liaisons in Ferdinand's room' though, seemed… well, unrealistic. The Duke apparent is no stranger to the complexities of romance in the nobility. At some point some advisor to House Aegir would suggest a politically advantageous marriage for the heir, he'd marry them and make them the center of his world until death they part, and any interest in the Vestra heir would have to fall by the wayside into fond memories. Perhaps they would both meet for tea after becoming widowers (...after Ferdinand becomes a widower, he can't say he sees anyone successfully arranging a marriage for the Marquis Vestra) and reminisce.

When he thinks through the scenario in actual terms instead of a hypothetical, Ferdinand likes Hubert's plan better, even without details. "End of the war?"

"Well, yes. My intentions had never been to discard you," Hubert fails to make eye contact, instead keeping his focus on his cup of coffee as he speaks, "I… didn't have time, not while we were quite frankly losing a war. With the return of the Professor, my duties about halved and we started to advance for a change. Any excuse to wait for the end of it all… well, seemed like an excuse."

Ferdinand throws his hands up in frustration. "When were you going to tell me this?!"

Hubert answers with a noncommittal shrug.

"I could have run off with a knight!" he says, still flailing his arms to illustrate his frustrated point. He needs to stop waving his arms about, the wound on his chest stings every time he does.

Five years was a long enough time. Hell, the year he spent staring at his ceiling, wondering why Hubert had discarded him (both romantically and tactically, since he got left out of the original plan to overthrow Garreg Mach) felt like five on its own. The mage is lucky he decided not to take his decisions personally and instead date another member of the Strike Force out of spite.

Well, there was no chance of that. Felix was attractive, perhaps. Dorothea was a fun conversationalist. Petra, a good sparring partner. None of these qualities overshadowed his intended vows and noble duties to Lady Edelgard.

Hubert _shouldn't_, but somehow out of the people Ferdinand was close to, it didn't seem like a question that would have to be raised.

"You wouldn't have," Hubert reminds him, "but yes, I suppose the risk of waiting on the matter would be to lose you to another. Out of duty to Lady Edelgard, I had to accept it."

"...you could have told me, you know," Ferdinand says, "Had I known-"

"-you would have done something much more idiotic than your display in Derdriu," he cuts in, scowling, "Much sooner."

"Strange women charging at you notwithstanding, I trust you to hold your own on the battlefield, do I not?!"

"You do not! You are always underfoot!" he slams the table as he speaks, "And as endearing as that is, it's going to be the death of you long before myself!"

For once, Hubert looks downright distressed and Ferdinand can't say he's ever seen that emotion on him. That's new. If he wasn't causing it, he'd be pretty impressed.

"This… is a war, Hubert. Should death come for me, it cannot be helped." Of all people who should realize this, it's the man slinks around causing more death than any battle could. They've seen former classmates die. They've seen allies die. Ferdinand doesn't _want _to leave House Aegir without a fighting chance against dissolution, but if that's what comes to pass, it comes to pass.

Hubert bangs the table with his fist, rattling the teacup. "Death in battle, yes! Death because you're a bumbling fool who throws himself into an obvious trap on _my _behalf, I cannot stand for!"

Well, there's probably a discrete amount of difference when he phrases it that way.

"I… I was trying to protect you," the Duke apparent defends, his words unsure.

With a deep sigh, Hubert steps back from the table lest his fury break the china. "You idiot. Lady Edelgard and the Professor have the best understanding of the battlefield out of any of us, quite possibly out of anybody in this war. Our battle plans are designed to give us the _best strategic advantage._ If you keep gallivanting about going after whatever target you so choose, you _will_ get killed and I will be powerless to save you from your own stupidity! And clearly I'm encouraging such behavior!"

There's a pause and Ferdinand tries to process his words. It's not the first time he's gone against the battle plan and almost been killed for it. This isn't the first time he's been chastised by Hubert for the privilege either. This _is_ the first time he's seen Hubert _enraged_ though, and only the second time he's seen fear swirling behind his eyes.

The first time was five years ago, down in the crypts, when the idiot decided to leave the rest of the Black Eagle House out of plan to overtake Garreg Mach and almost lost Lady Edelgard's life over it.

"I do not think you encouraged anything," he finally speaks, collecting his thoughts, "I have almost died in battle numerous times now. At least seven or eight. This is nothing new, and you should be well aware of this since you pulled the arrows out of my rear when I jumped in front of Leonie at the bridge. And in any case, it is still the most logical decision for the Adrestian Empire in the long run."

"Oh, the Duke Aegir is going to lecture _me _on logic now," Hubert sneers. 

Ferdinand scowls, "Yes. I will. For starters, I am not the only heir to House Aegir, there are others who could come up in my stead." Granted, his younger siblings are hardly old enough to don armor or swing a sword, none have any sway with Lady Edelgard, and all hate the Emperor with a passion on account of their father being imprisoned (Ferdinand can forgive them; they're all younger than fourteen and won't understand the intricacies for many years). "You are the only one left who can head the Vesta House."

Because Hubert's had most of his family murdered or banished. Concerning, but beyond the point to be made right now. Ferdinand has never been great terms with his father and if he lacked a conscience as well, he'd have done similar. Maybe.

"Ah yes, such high importance now that it's a county," he rolls his eyes. Ferdinand forgot he smeared his own holdings off any scale of importance just to prove he didn't care about nobility. "Goddess help us if no one inherits that stamp of farmland."

"_Second_, and more important," Ferdinand continues, ignoring Hubert's arrogance over his own besmirched title, "_If _you were to die in battle, who would take your place? You are propping up half of the Adrestian Army!"

"Ideally, _you_!" Hubert throws back, startling the other man, "That is why I cannot afford for you to go into battle like a buffoon!"

The Duke apparent chokes on the rest of his thoughts. He likes to think of himself as Lady Edelgard's right hand man, but in reality, he's aware he still needs to… grow into the position. As of right now he reports more to Hubert than the Emperor. "I cannot…"

Hubert crosses his arms. "Who else then? You said it yourself, this is a war!"

"I mean, I can keep the arms ordered, the battalions in check, and the kitchens stocked," he rattles, unsure of how to admit his own inadequacies, "It is the… relations you have been maintaining for the Empire that I am not sure I can manage."

"House Aegir supplies _Prime Ministers_, Ferdinand," the other man reminds him harshly, "You best _figure out_ how to manage it, because after this war it will be your job _regardless _of whether or not I perish in battle."

The Duke apparent gulps. He's not _unaware _of his future, per say. He had always expected to learn the role from his father (however begrudging the deposed Duke Aegir might be about it) though, not picking it up on the fly in the middle of a continental war. The fact that Hubert writes most of the treaties and arranges alliances takes away any need for Ferdinand to think about what he doesn't know. In return, Ferdinand keeps the Strike Force on their feet despite the Black Eagle Strike Force's best efforts to the contrary.

"I suppose our roles have… reversed from the intended," he admits, fidgeting. His father would curse his name (more) in the prisons if he realized what transpired at the Monastery right now.

He'd have quite a bit to say, actually, if he knew of the full truth of the younger von Aegir's affairs. Best he remains unaware through trial.

"I was hoping you already knew something about political relations and that by letting you manage the Monastery business, you would be in a position to succeed me should it be needed," Hubert sighs, leaning against Seteth's desk, "In any case, you would have to regardless. There is no one in this army more dedicated to Lady Edelgard."

That… might be unfortunate truth. Ferdinand swore an oath to her after they took Garreg Mach. He's in this until they unite Fódlan or die trying. His compatriots in the Strike Force feel the same, but Ferdinand has his doubts they have subscribed unquestioning loyalty to Lady Edelgard as much as they were disturbed the massive dragon Rhea morphed into in the crypts. It's hard for even Hubert to discern; the debate the matter often over tea.

"I…." Ferdinand stumbles for the words.

Hubert fills in for his stuttering. "I need you _alive_, Ferdinand, for far more reasons than finding you attractive."

"Wait, you think I am attractive?" This is news to Ferdinand. Hubert's comments about his appearance have been limited to his lack of haircut, and even those dwindled in the last two years.

The other man rolls his eyes, "Obviously. Hence why waiting for the end of the war didn't win over impulse control."

"You have never said this," Ferdinand points out. He implied it, heavily, by pointing out he'd planned to wait for the end of war. That should have clicked, in retrospect.

"Do you think I meet with you in the middle of the night as a matter of convenience? I wasn't lying when I told you I have to come back here to work," he gestures to his unkempt desk before crossing his arms in a huff.

Ferdinand bites his lip. "I might have… suspected as much."

There's a pause, and Ferdinand could almost swear time stops during it. For the second time in… well, ever, there's a hint of dejection across the mage's face. The gears turn in Ferdinand's head, between his concern in Derdriu and the confession of waiting for the end of war.

Hubert von Vestra has _actual_ romantic inclinations towards Ferdinand.

The fact that Hubert can even harbor such feelings is shocking enough. Ferdinand has let him in the front gates in the middle of the night covered in dried blood _more than once_. He's not oblivious to what the man's up to when he disappears from the Monastery on errands for Lady Edelgard. It's a war, and while Ferdinand hates to admit the necessity, it’s there regardless. Just, the thought that anyone can put a knife to sleeping throats and still _desire _another human-

-well, they must, on second thought. House Vestra still produces heirs. There's some human sentiment passing along lineage, even if it's the bare minimum required to reproduce.

Ferdinand has operated on a staunch policy of being unable to miss what he's never had, though. Hubert never gave him any genuine affection and as thus, he couldn't miss it. After a year or so of pining, the Duke apparent started to believe his mantra.

"I take it _your _sentiments were out of availability then?" Hubert shakes his head with a sad grin.

"No!" Ferdinand spits. Let it be damned. The last five years would have been easier slept alongside Hubert. He fell hard and fast for the new Marquis Vestra, and his time spent talking himself out of it could have been put to better use. "Of course not!"

"I'm not going to stab you for taking what's been made easily available." Those aren't words Ferdinand can say he believes, but in his own office would be sloppy behavior at best. In any case, there are far better reasons to convince the man of his sincerity, starting with the fact that Ferdinand is _not lying. _"My behavior at Derdriu is proof enough your lack of emotional control has worn off on me."

Ferdinand throws his hands in the air at the implication (and rewarded with a pain to his chest wound). Its _positively and absolutely _ignoble to have sexual relations without any level of romanticism. Sure, they skipped several (all) steps of proper courtship but the emotions were still present. Hubert _will not _accuse him of otherwise (...not now anyway, now that he knows it's a mutual sentiment). "Do you think I would have charged blindly if I did not hold some affection for you?!"

"Well, since you just spent fifteen minutes attempting to convince me your reasoning otherwise…" he rolls his eyes.

Yes, Ferdinand did do that, he realizes with a wince. "...Was I convincing?"

Hubert cackles at that. "Not in the slightest."

"...I stand by most of my statements regardless," Ferdinand pouts, "I cannot replace you. Nothing can."

"We're still at _war_, Ferdinand," he reminds the knight, "If one of us doesn't survive, we'll have to content ourselves with the reality that we died in service to Lady Edelgard. I will _not _be contented, however, with the idea that you threw your life away on my behalf, especially if it goes against the tactics plan you _helped _write."

Ferdinand backs away, sheepish at the accusation. He himself wouldn't be contented at the idea of Hubert throwing himself in front of a lance on his behalf. Hells, he's not sure how he'd handle it- maybe scream at the man's grave over his wastefulness. Hearing the same sentiments from Hubert…

Well, fair is fair. Ferdinand fell for him for some reason. Those reasons might end in their deaths during this war, but he can't deny they think alike on many matters and wouldn't hold him in any regard without said thinking.

"Fine. I will not make a show of rescuing you again," he mutters, hanging his head. He won't promise not to do so if saving the man is a clear option or if he gets higher orders or if the opposing party won't clearly turn him into mincemeat.

"Much appreciated," Hubert smirks, "And I will continue to smite your opponents only when you are failing to pay attention."

"Oh you _bast-_"

He doesn't get to finish his statement. Hubert lunges across Seteth's desk, grabbing Ferdinand by the back of the neck and all but smashing their mouths together. For a split second, Ferdinand panics that they're still in the main building, but the door is closed and Seteth's office must be more audibly secure than the student dorms. As such, he kisses back with a fury and grabs Hubert by the lapels, attempting to pull him over the desk.

To his surprise, the other man gracefully slides over it, even leaving his coffee undisturbed as he sits on the edge and wraps his legs around Ferdinand. The wound on his chest stings with some disagreement at the proximity, and Ferdinand ignores all of it. He didn't almost die to not enjoy Hubert in his own office.

"I am- _not_-" Hubert growls between kisses down the other man's neck, making him fail to bite back a moan with each, "going- to let- you live- this- down!"

Ferdinand has half a mind stuff his hand in his mouth. He settles for returning the favor, after some fumbling with shirt buttons and Hubert's jacket (which he _finally _gets open on the first try), sinking his teeth into the other man's neck. Hubert lets out a rare moan, the sound of which reverberates below Ferdinand's waist.

That doesn't go unnoticed, as nimble fingers brush against the front of his trousers and make work of the buttons. Ferdinand half wants to jump for joy that he coerced the man into going somewhere besides his room. It's not particularly well planned and may not be out of Caspar's earshot, but for once, Ferdinand isn't staring at his own damn ceiling.

His chest wound, as it turns out, wants none of these things. As soon as Hubert manages to undo the buttons, it burns with the raging meteor heat. Ferdinand doubles over with pain, falling out of Hubert's arms and onto his knees.

"The bedrest… might have been… a serious requirement," Ferdinand wheezes, resting his forehead against the desk and clutching his chest.

The mage hops off the desk and ignites a heal spell. The yellow light arcs as the pain lifts. "My mistake. Your march in here to start a fight gave the impression you were in better shape."

"I am fine," Ferdinand shoots back, "Though… perhaps this is neither the time nor the place."

"Yes. We will need to exercise more… discretion, going forward," Hubert admits as he offers the other man a hand off the carpet. "And for more reasons than the gaping hole in your chest."

"Agreed," Ferdinand responds, "To be quite honest, I am… not sure of the propriety of us continuing our relations with our duties to the Empire."

"That I am less worried about," Hubert shrugs, "Of anyone in this army, I can trust you to put Lady Edelgard's ambitions above all else, if for no reason other than your stubborn insistence on living out your oath."

"A member of the nobility only makes vows in _utmost_ sincerity," he balks, "I would not consider putting it second to my personal desires!"

Hubert shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee, "The Goddess help me that I have come to find your blithering endearing."

Of the available options, Ferdinand decides he will take that as a compliment. "I will stand by my principals. ...Though perhaps no more meeting before marches either."

The other man cracks a smile at that and wraps his arms around Ferdinand, who returns the gesture. "Yes, or on nights where I cannot drug Caspar into a deeper sleep."

Ferdinand freezes a bit at the comment. As much as he wants to believe it's a joke, it isn't. "Let us… not do that. We could meet in your room instead."

"Not an option," Hubert responds into the top of his head. He _must _be sleeping in this office these days, which Ferdinand wouldn't be opposed to provided Hubert got better chair. "I will find some sort of soundproofing hex."

"That is a more acceptable solution," Ferdinand decides, settling against the other man. His last attempt at hexing the furniture also turned his bed frame blue for three days (though the squeak did not return), but Hubert _must _have improved at hexes since the Academy. Even if not, the brick could always be a more interesting color.

The clock chiming for eleven breaks apart their moment of intimacy. Hubert shoots off of him, cursing to himself. "Damnit, I set the meeting for eleven."

"It is just down the hall, right?"

"Cardinal Room as always," Hubert fumbles for the teacup and saucer on his desk, "Manuela did release you to attend the meeting, I would hope?"

Ferdinand nods, though he has his doubts Manuela considered their little attempted hookup in Seteth's office when she approved him to leave the infirmary. He makes a quick prayer to the Goddess that he didn't do any damage to his recovery. He's not sure how to explain it to Manuela if otherwise.

"Blast it, I do not even have my boots or a change of shirt," Ferdinand realizes as he buttons up his trousers. He can't very well attend an official post-battle meeting shirtless and in socks. He doesn't very well want to attend the meeting without his full uniform either, but he doesn't have the time to be choosy.

"Your boots are in your pack," Hubert informs him as he swigs the cup of coffee on his desk, "As is your infernal jacket and your armor. Your shirt I had to cut off, you'd soaked it clean through with blood."

He has no right calling Ferdinand's jacket infernal. His buttons make logical sense.

"Well, then where did my pack get to?" There's a few extras in there; it's not like he had the opportunity to wear them. In all reality, there's more shirts in his dormitory room too, but he'd rather avoid being late to a meeting he's already delayed. Besides, he's wanted to find out the ending to the Derdriu battle for the last half hour and Hubert still hasn't given him any details (not that he's complaining).

Hubert shrugs, "I don't have it. I left that for Sylvain to handle when I was preoccupied _keeping you from bleeding to death._"

"Oh, blast it." Knowing Sylvain, it's still tied to his horse in the stables. His boots are lost, for sure. The knight has a bad feeling he'll be wearing the too-small pair stashed in the closet with his old armor until Manuela approves him to leave the Monastery. 

"Here, take mine," he undoes his dress shirt and tosses it at Ferdinand, "I have my coat. You're fine without your boots, we're just going down the hall."

Ferdinand's almost too shocked at the words to catch the shirt. It's a terrible idea based on their agreement five minutes ago to be _discreet_ about their affairs. Wearing the other man's clothing doesn't fall within range of that definition. He's only done up half the buttons by the time the other man fixes his jacket, retrieves his stack of papers, and opens the door, gesturing for him to hurry it up. "I think this is a little more than obvious, Hubert. This shirt does not even fit."

To illustrate his point, he waves his arms to whip around the elongated cuffs as he hurries to catch the other man. It's a little tighter than he'd prefer, too. At some point the two might have been able to share clothing (not that the Hubert of five years ago would have allowed Ferdinand to borrow a shirt without setting him on fire in the process). At some point though, the scrawny, naive knight filled out and Hubert well… did not.

Ferdinand really needs to drag him by the training grounds more often. He might not have any need to pick up a sword, but the day might come when he needs to pick up a sword. The Goddess knows, anything is possible in this war.

"It looks like every other plain white shirt in this Monastery," Hubert sighs, "No one will notice. Come on, we're late."

Hubert's shirt will have to do, then. "Who's socks am I wearing anyway?"

"_Mine_," Hubert grumbles as they hurry up the hall, but he's wearing a smirk, "I couldn't find any in your things."

"Oh yeah, forgot to pack them."

"Thank the Goddess you had a sword on you." Ferdinand can't quite see the eye roll, but he knows it's there. He wishes he could. He's starting to realize he finds Hubert's eye rolls adorable.

"I forget my sword _one time_," Ferdinand groans, "I have improved since our Academy days."

"Yes, you've almost entirely stopped shouting your own name before charging into battle," Hubert comments, holding the door to the meeting room open.

"I have not done that in years!" Ferdinand informs the other man as walks in. He goes red anyway, even if he could bring up how a certain mage still twirls in a little circle every time he takes out an enemy. He won't, but more because Ferdinand becomes very aware of twenty sets of eyes on him. Well. Almost twenty. Fifteen.

Well. Eleven, since the Professor is playing with a loose string on their coat and Manuela didn't show up. Lady Edelgard stares at Hubert as if the man might have run into a demonic beast on the way. And Hubert himself looks at Lady Edelgard as if he's sorry about running into a demonic beast on the way.

From the corner of the table, Dorothea shakes her head. "Ferdinand, you realize you did that ten seconds before Lysithea wiped you out?"

The Duke apparent can feel himself go bright red. In the heat of battle, with Hubert's life on the line, he can't be held responsible for his mouth. In lieu of a response, he decides to keep walking to his usual seat next to Lady Edelgard. The pale-haired girl that almost killed him goes red as he strides past without paying her any mind. She didn't mean anything by the attack, he knows. It's a war. Enemies attack each other. He'll make a point to do the chivalrous thing and schedule tea with her and let her know there's no hard feelings.

He'll schedule that tea next week though when Manuela lets him off bed rest.

"How nice of you to show up to your own meeting," Sylvain shoots at Hubert, who follows on his heels. "Guess Ferdinand is feeling better."

"Never been better!" the knight declares as he sits down, "I am ready for the next fight!"

"I'm sure that's not what Manuela's recommendations were," Lady Edelgard mentions, "Though I'm glad to see you up and about."

Hubert strides to the head of the room to hand his stack of battle notes to the Professor. Ferdinand can't even imagine what's written on them. The man himself admitted he didn't see much of the battle.

"All right, let's actually discuss the battle itself before we start critiquing," the Professor tells them, not bothering to glance at the notes, "We'll have plenty of time to argue about who outfought who."

"Sad that one of us won't have anything to contribute on that matter for a change," Hubert jokes, without any bite in his tone. He did say Ferdinand wasn't going to live this one down, so the target in question makes a 'pfft' noise and doesn't dignify it with a response. If anything, he fought more valiantly than the rest of the Strike Force. Just, not as intelligently.

"Hubert, have you tried to be going hunting?" Petra asks, out of the blue, staring at the second-in-command of their team.

Ferdinand looks up and his heart stops. He's wearing Hubert's shirt, which means the other man has nothing to hide the large bite mark that's purpling on his neck and on display to the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force. It's suspiciously in the same spot Ferdinand might have kissed him earlier. With teeth.

It's over. Just as they worked out their relationship, it's over. Out of all the ways it could have ended, all the ways their trysts could have been discovered, the middle of a battle debrief falls at the very bottom of the hierarchy of ways Ferdinand could have lived with seeing this affair end.

Hubert doesn't have a sarcastic remark for _that_. "What?"

"You have been bited by something," she elaborated, "It appears to be like a squirrel."

Even without looking, Ferdinand can feel the entire attention in the room redirect to Hubert. He racks his brain for any way distract his comrades. Maybe he can get his chest wound to start bleeding again. If only he'd learned to faint on command, that would be a handy skill.

"_What?"_ There's a hint of panic in Hubert's voice that Ferdinand can only discern because of his years of proximity. A little more obvious is the hand he slaps over the offending mark on his neck.

Lady Edelgard presses her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. "I… wasn't going to say anything…"

The Professor smirks, "Hunted an ally, then?"

"Wait a second! _YOU _were the one keeping me up the other night!" Caspar jumps up, pointing an accusing finger at Hubert, "I _knew _Ferdinand wasn't alone! Take that shit elsewhere, you bastard, I'm _not _putting up with another year of you and Ferdinand's bullshit! And I don't care if you poison me over it this time!"

Ferdinand goes white, his attention redirecting to his neighbor.

Another year.

As in, Caspar knew about their affairs back at the Academy too.

As in, Caspar's _never _been asleep.

As in, Ferdinand and Hubert's affair has never gone_ unnoticed_ and now it's out in the open and _over _right as they could straighten out what the hell it was they were doing in the first place.

"Oh, _that _was the noises the night before we were leaving. I was thinking they had broken in after the war started," Petra muses, giggling to herself, "Which is shaming, I thought that they were quite romance-ish."

"Wait, you could hear us?" Ferdinand asks, earning him a glare of half-betrayal, half-bewilderment from a speechless Hubert.

"_I_ could hear you two back then," Lady Edelgard still tries to hold down her laughter. Hubert's attention snaps to her, and her words leave him looking far more terrified than any implication he needs to pass a riding exam, “From _my _room. I presumed you broke up as well."

"And break up again, Goddess damnit!" Caspar cuts in, still the only one in the room more pissed than amused, "This isn't the Academy, we have to get actual sleep around here!"

"As yes, up, not in," Petra corrects herself.

"You knew?" Hubert asks Lady Edelgard, his voice almost cracking as he speaks. Lady Edelgard gives in to a few chuckles as she nods.

"Hell, the Blue Lions knew!" Sylvian doubles over with laughter, "Speaking of which, Felix, buddy… that's five hundred gold you owe me."

"Only _you_ would collect on a bet from five years ago," Felix scowls, either over the admittance money was exchanged and Hubert will poison him over that, or at a lack of five hundred gold. "And well, _Lorenz_ told us, so it was more of a rumor…"

"You couldn't have shared?!" Dorothea asks, "Clearly Hubert got around to threatening everyone in the Black Eagles that could have provided gossip."

"You could have asked Lorenz!" Caspar retorts, "He was happy to share it with us too. I had to look like an idiot and pretend I could sleep through that racket because _someone_ laced my waterskin to prove a point!"

"Huh, no wonder I couldn't fix that," Lindhart recollects, "You told me it was food poisoning."

"It was some kind of poisoning!"

"Claude was who told all the Golden Deer," Leonie giggles, "Goddess, Claude would be all over this. I hope he's watching from the afterlife."

"That _was _why I went after Hubert," Lysithea admits, blushing, "My assigned target was Ferdinand, I tried it on the off-chance it was true since I couldn't get to that side of the field."

Ferdinand didn't think he had blood left to drain from his face. He can't even hear more than snippets of the side conversations going on about bets and rumors and how many walls away the two could be heard and whether or not there's budget to sound-proof the dormitories and who is first on the list to be relocated to Jeritza's old room. His heartbeat echoes in his ears and drowns out all else. His eyes are locked on Hubert, who has two surprises up his sleeve.

Number one, that he's capable of blushing. His face has turned the same color of red as Dorothea's dress and the offending hickey isn't even visible anymore. If it wasn't for the fiasco unraveling, Ferdinand would call the display of embarrassment a win. That's six confirmed emotions out of Hubert, three alone in last week. 

Number two, somewhere in his studies of dark magic, Hubert's learned that handy teleporting trick all the evil magic types seem to know.

Lady Edelgard agrees with Leonie that this discovery is Claude having his last laugh at the Adrestian Empire from the grave. Then Hubert is just _gone_. The Professor gives half a scowl, indicating they _might _have taken it too far (in the same sense that Brigid _might _be too far for a grocery run) and everyone needs to simmer down. Even with the absence of the Black Eagles Strike Force's resident enforcer of order, they simmer. The laughter stops abruptly, with everyone staring at the now-empty chair. 

"Oh dear," Lady Edelgard sighs as she stands.

Ferdinand rockets out of his chair. Nothing about this situation will be improved by Lady Edelgard taking time out of her day to console her second-in-command. If anything, a delay of wartime planning will make Hubert feel even worse. The Duke apparent is at least used to screwing up and has nothing to contribute to the debrief beyond 'don't charge headlong at mages without being a mage'. "I shall go look for him."

"...Thank you, that might be for the best," Lady Edelgard says after some hesitation, "Please apologize to him for me."

"Not for me, you two assholes deserve it," Caspar snaps as Ferdinand dashes from the Cardinal room.

Ferdinand shoots a rude gesture over his shoulder for the first time in his life as he disappears into the hallway. It's ignoble and _childish_, and for once, he doesn't much care. No reason for Hubert to be the only guilty party to give any indication he's upset.

\--

The last place anyone would ever expect Hubert to hide is at the Cathedral. He's never been religious. He wasn't even good at faking being religious before the war. Weekly service was the one place he _didn't _follow Lady Edelgard (and thus the one place Ferdinand could speak with her freely, hence how he started attending services in the first place). The Professor managed to assign him to choir practice once, and he managed to pretend he had a migraine and got himself excused halfway through.

As such, that's the first place Ferdinand looks for him. His suspicions of misdirection prove correct, though Hubert is out on the west veranda instead of in the ruined Cathedral itself. It takes a minute of jogging around like an idiot before Ferdinand spots him leaning against the security wall, staring down into the crevice.

"Please do not jump," Ferdinand requests, trying to approach slowly in case Hubert does something rash.

Hubert glances up at him and rolls his eyes, "Don't be stupid, jumping would be a waste of aptitude."

Well, that's… a relief, Ferdinand supposes.

"There's a wyvern nest down there, we'll need someone with some skill with the beasts to rehome it," he elaborates, stepping around the elephant in the room… well, the veranda.

"I could try, I almost passed flying," Ferdinand muses. No one passed flying, not even the Professor. In the end, they all got passing grades in exchange for not reporting how their instructor failed to impart the subject matter.

"You'd turn yourself into a stain on the cliffs," Hubert says with a shake of his head.

"I will be one anyway when my father hears of why Lady Edelgard chose to disband House Aegir," he sighs, no longer able to keep his thoughts into his head. He'd failed at his one job as a vassal of the Adrestian Empire- put his Emperor and her cause above all else. He'd failed at any chivalry itself and couldn't call himself a noble.

And while Hubert didn't care about the proper nobility part of it, he'd dragged the other man into it as well.

"You will lose House Aegir regardless when Lady Edelgard abolishes the nobility," Hubert reminds him, "I doubt our impropriety will factor into it."

"Yes, but I have lost any and all chances of gaining the respect required to save it," Ferdinand groans sitting on the wall. To hell with it, if he falls, he falls. "It is not noble to shirk my duties to Emperor and country for my own personal desires. I can understand if she revokes my title and denotes me to guarding Enbarr."

Hubert shrugs, "I would think at this point Lady Edelgard _expects _some degree of idiocy out of you."

"This isn't in the same category as speaking out of turn in meetings, and you of all people should appreciate this," he huffs, "It is grossly ignoble behavior and I should think if Lady Edelgard had any sense, she would disband my house and demote me to gate guard."

"While your dramatism is sadly making me feel better about our predicament, I don't think she will take your offenses personally enough to demote you to gate guard," Hubert fiddles with the latch on his cape, "Myself, on the other hand..."

"Why you? It appears you had her full approval," Ferdinand points out. At the very least, Lady Edelgard didn't _complain _to him five years ago about the racket.

Hubert's lip twitches in a sad smirk, "She's inquired about my personal life more than once. I shut it down by telling her there was no one I was more devoted to than her and her cause. I think it's rather obvious that turned out to be a lie."

"...When?" Ferdinand racks his brain for the last time Hubert might have had some semblance of a personal life. Lady Edelgard isn't aware he's sleeping in Seteth's office, clearly.

"Over a year ago, but it doesn't inspire much confidence in my honesty."

"I do not think it is truthfully a lie if you said those words a year ago," Ferdinand reminds him, "At the time, you were devoted to your duties above all else. I... uh… assumed you still were."

It hurts a little bit to think that he's what ripped Hubert away from that. Granted, all Ferdinand did was _exist _and then maybe make a poor decision to trust Hubert had handled all the risks of their liaisons. In truth, he could have foreseen their relationship ending this way.

Well, he didn't foresee everyone knowing about five years ago. They had been teenagers in the Academy then, they didn't foresee most of the war. Ferdinand is five years wiser now (and wholly more aware of how thin the dormitory walls are).

"I misbelieved I could juggle the wartime with… well, you. It turns out, not so much if our enemies were able to use it against us. I would have been better off waiting for the end of it all as planned." He gives a long sigh and stares at the clear skies above them.

"I should like to think that any member of the Strike Force would rush to save you from danger," Ferdinand muses, sitting against the wall, "And Lysithea would not have been able to target me in specific."

"Yes, and I should like to think Sylvain could handle grocery runs so you might be kept around the Monastery," Hubert chuckles, "I'm not unawares to how most of this army feels about my presence. I look forward to the war ending just so I can put further distance between myself and the attention."

And to think, he just got plenty of that at the debrief meeting, more than the Strike Force has outwardly given him (even if most curse him in private). Ferdinand almost feels _bad _based on that account alone. "I suppose that explains why you poofed away back there. How long have you been able to do that anyway?"

To be honest, Ferdinand would have had second thoughts about charging at Lysithea if he'd known about that power.

"Six months," Hubert shoots back, "It takes more energy than you think. I'm exhausted."

"I mean that might on account of not sleeping since… at least last week," he suggests. The man has to sleep sometimes.

"I dozed in the wagon, I'm fine."

"That is not a sufficient amount of sleep," Ferdinand reprimands, "And we both know it."

"More than usual," the mage shrugs.

Another fine and logical reason they need to call off their arrangement.

Ferdinand's gut sinks.

"To think," Hubert gives a halfhearted laugh, "All this time, you could have come to my room. It's not as if my attempts at discretion did me any good."

His words strike a sudden nerve. "Oh you… you bastard! You did not care if anyone thought I had guests of ill-repute!" Like Caspar suggested and Ferdinand could never bring himself to do. "You were trying to keep your own reputation clean!"

_Really!_ Five years and Hubert is the same bastard he's always been. He's content to skulk in the shadows and willing to sacrifice everyone around himself to stay shadows. Ferdinand starts to spit that he doesn't want to hear another word about charging headlong on the battlefield, because the man will happily scapegoat Ferdinand's reputation. If nothing else, he _deserved _for Caspar to call him out in front of the Strike Force so for _once _the appropriate party could get the spotlight.

Hubert cuts off his tirade after glancing at the reaction. "Before you lose your temper, please consider- how many people do I associate with at this establishment?"

"Well, everyone. You run the Monastery," Ferdinand humors, scowling.

That earns him an eye roll, which takes some power to not find endearing. "Allow me to rephrase. How many do I _socialize_ with?"

Ferdinand thinks on it. "Well, myself. Lady Edelgard…"

He racks his brain for a third. Sometimes Hubert gets tea with Bernadetta. He's seen him talk to the other Strike Force members, but it never looks to be on terms of friendship. He loathes the recruits from the other houses and doesn't do much beyond threaten the other residents of the Monastery.

"Exactly," Hubert points out, crossing his arms, "And given the options, who would you believe I was with if you heard incriminating noises in the middle of the night?"

_Oh._ "Lady Edelgard…"

"Rumors of an Emperor striking a relationship with her second-in-command? A scandal our enemies would love to capitalize on. _I _will not risk her reputation for the sake of my own indiscretions," he states point blank, "Or… would not, since it turns out everyone to pass through Garreg Mach since our Academy days has heard a far more accurate rumor. Lady Edelgard included."

"...Why did you not just explain that?!" Ferdinand gapes, throwing his arms up. His chest burns once and Ferdinand mentally curses it into behavior.

Hubert avoids eye contact, keeping his eyes fixed on the opposing wall of the Cathedral. "Because there was no way I could find to phrase it that would not result in a lengthy discussion about where you lie in my priorities, which is still below Lady Edelgard and forwarding her ambitions even if higher than everything else. And it was not a discussion I've been eager to have with someone I've found I… care entirely too much about."

Ferdinand shakes his head and sighs, though he smiles at Hubert's sentiments. It's sweet, in a sickening way now that it's fallen to pieces. "You _know_ I would have understood."

"I found the potential conflict of interest an uncomfortable thought," he admits, "It's not a problem I have had to consider before and I didn't want to risk you taking offense. It was easier to avoid the explanation."

Not giving an explanation at all isn't a great alternative, but Ferdinand will let that discussion drop.

"Our oaths to Lady Edelgard will _always _take precedence." That's why he's going to have to suck up being demoted to Enbarr or thrown off a cliff. "I would have understood if you had just… well, said that. You keep everything to yourself, though. It is impossible to glean what you are thinking."

"Now you sound like Lady Edelgard."

"She has a point," Ferdinand shrugs, "You could have explained your reasoning, I would have stopped asking to meet elsewhere "

"Give me some semblance of understanding," Hubert grumbles, "I did not expect to feel attractions for _anyone_, let alone your blundering ass, and by the time I realized it there were more _pressing matters at hand_. I'm not well experienced at managing interpersonal relations that don't involve knives or poison."

"There you go with the insults again…" Ferdinand says with a grin. He's gotten to like them over the years; they make Hubert Hubert, much like the eye rolls.

"The point remains," Hubert wraps an arm around Ferdinand. He falls into it, as if his head exists to rest on the other man's shoulder. "I'm not practiced at this."

"Perhaps myself neither," Ferdinand is more comfortable discussing black magic than his relationship with Hubert, actually. "Where is your room, anyway?"

Five years since the end of the Academy and the question has burned on his mind. He doesn't see the man in the dormitories at all. And if it's some dark secret, it doesn't matter much anymore. Lady Edelgard will undoubtedly demote him to Enbarr.

Hubert blinks, as if Ferdinand asked what a wyvern looked like, "The same room I have always had, on the other side of Caspar."

"I have never seen you at the dormitory!" Ferdinand exclaims.

The other man shakes his head, "I both go to sleep later and rise earlier than you, that's why. I don't spend the night so it doesn't disturb your habits."

"Wait, really?" That's so uncomfortably considerate Ferdinand's not sure if the man before him has been replaced with an imposter in recent months. "Yet you kept me up all night a few weeks ago and still left!"

"I had work to finish, I didn't mean for that evening to get _out of hand_," he mumbles, "And I felt sorry about your broken nose, that was why I asked the Professor to find the flowers. As they broke it, I presumed it could be a combined apology."

No wonder the arrangement looked so… awkward. It lived for all of three days before starting to rot. Ferdinand feels guilty for removing it posthaste.

"Oh, well thank you…" Ferdinand replies quietly, "I… could have gotten used to your schedule."

Hubert shrugs but doesn't offer a response. It's yet another thing they might have been able to work out, only for it to be in vain. There's a war going on, neither of them has time for sleepover.

Ferdinand admits as such. "In any case, I suppose it does not matter much anymore. I am not sure where we go from here."

Here being the fact that the entire Black Eagle Strike Force now knows both men have been shirking their duties to the Empire, and perhaps the fact that none of them were surprised about it either. It doesn't make for a grand vote of confidence for the second-in-command and not-official-but-likely-third-in-command-or-at-least-grocery-expert. If nothing else, Lysithea's use of their relationship as a tactical point should come as a concern.

"Well, I need to apologize and explain myself to Lady Edelgard, for certain," Hubert makes a long sigh, "And hope she does not revoke all trust in me for not waiting until the end of the war for my own personal business. As far as the two of us… I hope we can both remain in the Black Eagle Strike Force but from a logical perspective…"

Ferdinand nods. He wouldn't keep them both together either, not after his display at Derdriu. Apologizing goes without saying, though. That's the start of the penance they need to pay. Ferdinand should also apologize for charging headlong across a battlefield and almost getting killed. And also, for keeping up half the Strike Force the night before a march. "I should-"

Hubert finishes the thought for him, "-Wait until I can have a conversation with her, before you accidentally offer her House Aegir on a silver platter. If you don't want your nobility disintegrated and on the first caravan back to Enbarr, wait until I can help you formulate an appropriate apology. I will let you know her thoughts on the matter."

"...That might be wiser," Ferdinand admits the other man's advantage here, for once. He's not in a rush to get demoted back to the Enbarr guard. As second-in-command, Hubert has a little more sway. "Does this mean you want to risk my presence at the Monastery?"

"My carefully constructed order falls to ruin without your enforcement," Hubert admits, "I don't want to think about the results I received last time I had Felix inventory arms. I promise to keep an appropriate distance, provided you cease charging across the battlefield on my behalf. I would hope we settled that."

Appropriate distance sounds like a distinct lack of teatime, which Ferdinand supposes is a small price to pay to stay at Garreg Mach.

"If appropriate distance includes instructing me on how to hold proper relations with other houses." Ferdinand should have butted into this business four years ago. With his father in prison and provided Lady Edelgard does not strike Ferdinand from the courts entirely, he'll be Prime Minister at the end of the war. It's long overdue he learns the job.

Hubert sighs, "No promises. I'm not so sure you want instruction from a Vesta on this topic either."

Granted, the second-in-command does far more assassinating and threatening than he does letter writing. It's still more than whatever Ferdinand's father has taught so far. And it's a moot point anyway, he's already proven his lack of ability to put Lady Edelgard's business above all else.

"I am sure it will be skills I will never use in Enbarr anyway," Ferdinand responds with a sigh, before adding, "Will you at least tell her I apologize as well?"

"Not an issue, I will let her know you felt faint on the walk over and I sent you back to your room," he practices, earning a nudge from Ferdinand's elbow.

"At least tell her we ran into a demonic beast on the way," Ferdinand huffs, "No reason to make it sound as if I cannot handle embarrassment."

"You cannot," Hubert chuckles, "You fled from the meeting."

"To find you!"

"I did not say I was any better." He stands, stretching as he speaks. "I should find Lady Edelgard before she loses any more respect for me."

"Right." Ferdinand's heart feels ready to seize. It's their fault they're in this mess though, he needs to live with the consequences. Or learn to live with them, at least. Right now, he wants to go back to his room and sob for a few hours. "Will you come find me after?"

Caspar would hear the sobbing. He won't dignify his neighbor with that.

"Will you go to your room and rest as Manuela recommended?" 

And _now_ he cares about whatever Manuela told him about his injuries. "...I could."

"You should. I've known you for quite some time now, Ferdinand. You don't take to magic particularly well." Magic had been a disaster for him. His practical in faith blew out three windows. Hubert had helped him with reason for the expressed sake of keeping the classroom intact, but Ferdinand also didn't sleep the night beforehand and passed more due to the good graces of the Professor (and their lack of desire to let him take the practical a fourth time).

Ferdinand almost suggests Hubert can help him sometime, before grim reality sets in that they likely won't have a next time. At the very least, Lady Edelgard will request the call of their romantic intentions. The Duke apparent is likely going back to Enbarr, if not kicked out of the whole of the Imperial army. 

"I suppose not," he mutters, a wave of sadness catching him. His stomach twists in a knot.

Hubert gestures for them both to leave the Cathedral, maybe because he'll start to burn if he stands around any longer. "...Regardless," he mutters as they walk towards the gates, "Whatever comes of our discussion… I will still come find you when the war business is settled. Don't run off with some knight in Enbarr."

Ferdinand smiles weakly at that. "I will do my best. No promises."

Hubert laughs, and it's the least malicious laugh Ferdinand has ever heard from him.

\--

Sleep doesn't find him. Ferdinand can't tell if it's because he's been asleep for the last three days or if he's nervous. Either way, any more rest eludes him.

Hubert doesn't show up by the four o'clock chime, which sends him pacing the floor. Lady Edelgard certainly couldn't have been mad enough to _kill _her second-in-command. Sure, the Marquis Vestra swore fealty to her somewhere around age seven or eight and has acted as her unwavering servant ever since, but there has to be _some _consideration that the man has a life of his own.

There's no time for a life outside the war, Ferdinand knows this and is guilty of the same crimes.

Around the five o'clock chime, Sylvain bangs on his door to bring his armor back and give him the rundown of the rest of the battle. Ferdinand missed everything, the battle carried on for four or five hours in his absence. Hubert absconded to provide first aid and arrange transport back to Garreg Mach, though the knight 'probably already knew that'. The elder Bergliez was left in charge of Derdriu, though Caspar had been given the offer to stay as well (and didn't, damn him). Lady Edelgard was so worried about Ferdinand she came back in the first march, which makes the Duke apparent feel even worse about his secret relations with her second-in-command. Hubert must have been beside himself in more ways than one on the ride home.

Really, Ferdinand deserves Enbarr.

His boots, by some miracle, have made it back to the Monastery. The socks with them are a total loss. He can almost picture Hubert shucking his boots, rolling his eyes, and digging for a different pair of socks. The thought makes him want to find the man and apologize on the spot.

The chestplate is a total loss as well- the spell more or less shattered it. Both his shoulder pads won't make it a more than a few more battles, and one of the knee pads is probably too shot to put to use. Ferdinand sits down and starts to pen a note to his father that he'll be using House Aegir funds to purchase replacements. A voice in his head (that sounds suspiciously like Hubert) reminds him about three sentences in that he's the acting head of House Aegir and what he does with the funds is his business.

The same voice in his head tells him to get a full suit as well, since it's not like he won't make use of it. Ferdinand ignores that part but gives up on the letter around the seven o'clock chime. It's just a good a time as any to eat, since he hasn't done that in three days and he's out of smoked meat. Besides, he'll be back in Enbarr sooner than later. He can take a stroll to the prisons and just tell his father he'll be taking funds.

Hell, he won't even need the new armor.

Ferdinand takes his dinner with Bernadetta, Lindhart, and Leonie, none of whom make any mention of what transpired in the meeting earlier. In fact, they talk about nothing relating to Lady Edelgard, Ferdinand and Hubert's trysts, or anything else about the man. Bernadetta talks about sewing. Lindhart talks about an interesting novel about dragons in Dagda, and Bernadetta asks for its location in the library. Leonie calls them both nerds and rolls her eyes more often than necessary.

Hubert doesn't show, regardless of how long or hard Ferdinand stares at the door attempting to will it. He's half tempted to walk upstairs and find the man himself, since he's likely in Seteth's office penning a letter to every other branch of the Adrestian Army to come pick up a wayward knight (minus half a suit of armor). As much as Ferdinand _wants _some choice on where he's relocated, Lady Edelgard may be with him and there's conversations he's promised not to have yet. In the end, he decides to trudge back to the dorms after ten minutes or so of mulling in the gardens over whether or not to storm Seteth's office.

Ironically, he finds Hubert on the second floor of the dormitories during daylight, for the first time since the start of the war.

The man is knocking with intense fury on Ferdinand's door, which makes his stomach somersault and tongue tie as he approaches.

"Well, I suppose I'm foolish for my assumption you were going to listen to a medical expert and stay on bed rest," Hubert sighs, leaning against the door.

He looks like _absolute _hell. His yellow eyes have bloodshot, his bangs have shifted to every direction, and there's a stain on his gloves that looks suspiciously like coffee. His missing shirt was never replaced. The hickey on his neck looks like it's been scratched at.

"I… grew hungry," Ferdinand replies carefully, "Are you okay?"

"Not in particular," he grumbles, "Lysithea kindly informed us of a potential siege on Garreg Mach within the month and we're only half prepared for an invasion. Not to mention the last time I've slept was sometime yesterday."

"Potential siege?" Ferdinand jumps to attention, and regrets the pain in his chest wound, "Who's doing armory inventory?"

"Felix and Leonie."

"I shall double check-"

"You will stay on bed rest before you tear that wound open," Hubert orders with a scowl, "I will _tie _you down if need be."

Ferdinand can feel himself go red at the suggestion, "I will check in with Manuela in the morning…"

The other man rolls his eyes. "If you must do something, I need a procurement order tallied and given to Sylvain."

"Armaments or grocery?"

"Yes," he snarks, "Also you can figure out the puzzle of how to arrange a proper night watch with our current battalions. _Tomorrow_."

"Right, tomorrow," he mutters, "What are you off to do?"

"Sleep, because everything is battened down enough to survive the night," Hubert grumbles, "And apparently I've been asleep at my desk for the last hour, so Lady Edelgard chased me from the main building."

"Ooof." Ferdinand twitches, not sure how to bring up the pressing topic of how their conversation went. From Hubert's status, they might not have had it and Ferdinand has an uncomfortable night of limbo ahead of him.

Hubert must notice the twitch, because it's the next words out of this month. "You will be pleased to know she agrees with my sentiments about removing you from Garreg Mach. You won't be going to Enbarr."

The Duke apparent lets out a breath he doesn't realize he was holding. "Oh, thank the goddess."

"Mhmm," the other man offers a real, but very tired smile, before quietly adding, "Nor is she perturbed about any of our… extracurricular interaction."

"What?" Ferdinand blinks, unable to believe what he's hearing.

Hubert looks exasperated at the mere thought of elaborating. He pinches the skin between his eyes and shakes his head. "If anything, she was inexplicably pleased at our behavior and has given her sincere approval on its continuation."

"_What?_" He struggles to believe the other man's words. Lady Edelgard doesn't see Lysithea wiping Ferdinand off the map or Hubert staying up all night in the infirmary as any level of tactical concern. This can't be right. "Is there _no _concern about the propriety of our army?!"

For a split second, Duke apparent is tempted to march to the main building and debate the point with the Emperor himself. Hubert will have a fit if he tries to leave the dormitory, though.

"She was far more concerned with petty details about our relationship," he groans, "which, just so you are aware, I was forced to disclose far too many of."

Ferdinand can feel his ears go pink. This means Lady Edelgard knows the disastrous story of their first kiss- sometime on a very hungover walk back to the Monastery after Ferdinand drunkenly stumbled into a pond and then drunkenly ran into the forest from his rescuer, who he accused of being a demonic beast. In his defense, Hubert chased him and both students then learned neither had any talent for holding their liquor or navigating by starlight on a cloudy night.

He's always suspected Lady Edelgard never heard even close to a full version of that disastrous evening (and much better morning).

"And over the course of our discussion," Hubert continues, "I gained rather intricate knowledge of the rest of our comrades' personal lives, so I can assure you there _is _no propriety in this army."

"You mean Felix and Sylvain? _You_ told me about that one."

"Yes, but I was unaware they'd removed a few dormitory walls and claimed Dimitri's old room for… ease of access. That is the least of my concerns, the main one being our adversaries apparently hexing the drinkable water and encouraging these sorts of affairs," he throws his free hand up, the other keeps him propped upright with Ferdinand's door, "It's a miracle _you_ are the only one who has almost died in a flamboyant gesture of romance on the battlefield."

Ferdinand pouts a bit at the reminder. He isn't going to live this one down. It will replace his missing sword, for sure. "Well, I am sure it is good for morale. Any interesting details?"

"Perhaps so," Hubert looks like he's been forced to drink one of his own poisons, "But nothing I have the stomach to _share_ at the moment."

"Fair." Hubert doesn't look capable of doing much more than lean on a door right now. It'll come up over tea, no doubt. "...were any of those walls bearing a structural load?"

"I won't tell Manuela you're out of bed if you happen to go confirm over the course of the week," Hubert says, peeling himself off the door, "In any case, as long as you can be trusted to contain yourself in future conflicts, I see no impetus to… renegotiate our previous status."

Despite the wording, Ferdinand cracks a grin straight across his face and swallows the other man in a hug that almost sends him toppling over. Hubert seems startled at first but settles against the smaller man once he regains his balance. Ferdinand himself can't process the excitement. Lady Edelgard isn't considering his affair a strike against him, Hubert wants to stay with him, the Monastery has a siege to prepare for, Ferdinand's wound-

The gaping hole in Ferdinand's chest suddenly feels like it's on fire. He sinks to his knees, clutching for it. Hubert jumps, waving his arms about as the soft yellow light of a heal spell arcs between them.

"Okay, perhaps it is good you are tired this evening…" Ferdinand spits out as the spell takes effect, "I think I am going to have to take Manuela's recommendations and rest."

"I believe it was an order and not a recommendation," Hubert corrects as he extends a hand, "In any case, I need to sleep. You are, of course, welcome to come join me… in _my _room, for a change."

Ferdinand doesn't have time to do much more than gape at the invitation, before Caspar's door flies open, the fighter himself red with anger on the other side. "That's it! I'm moving into Jeritza's room! I am _done _overhearing you two!"

"You could move in with Lindhart and save yourself the haunting," Hubert chuckles as Caspar freezes midway through striding out the door.

"I- It's not- The library is too drafty!" he fumbles, going red, before deciding he's caught, "...and Lindhart says the beds aren't big enough."

Well, that answers one of Ferdinand's questions about what Hubert meant about an army of impropriety. He could have guessed that one. He'll ask about Petra and Dorothea later this week.

"They really are not," Ferdinand notes, "I have been meaning to ask about a bigger one."

Hubert shoots him a sideways glance, "If it shows up on a procurement request, I'll let you fill it as you see fit. I'm allergic to down, please keep that in mind."

"Augh, no! That wasn't the point!" Caspar grimaces, "The point is _you- two_\- forget it, I'm just _moving_! I've had it with the paper-thin walls in this building, I've had it with my annoying neighbors, and I've had it with knowing that somehow _both _of you are getting laid!"

With that, the fighter storms down the hall to the tune of the other two men laughing so hard Ferdinand's wound starts to burn again. Hubert has to waste another heal spell on him, before leading him by the hand two doors down for some well needed actual sleep.

And also, for another heal spell in the middle of the night. As it turns out, Hubert becomes rather cuddly after falling asleep and manages to squeeze Ferdinand into bleeding again. A larger bed finds its way to the top of the procurement order for Sylvain the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Alt title: Really, everyone's happy you two are finally getting laid (even if it's with each other).
> 
> Anybody over 18 that wants to talk FE3H shop, I'm wyattmdowell on twitter (I rarely post anything but I do chitchat) and wyattm on tumblr (never there anymore).


End file.
